Harry Potter And The Veil Of Murder
by Raine Lionheart
Summary: ON HIATUS. Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts is about to begin, and already he's faced with a new pet, a new crush and the weakening state of his friendship with Ron and Hermione. But now, strange voices from nowhere are unsettling him.
1. The Crup

This piece takes place directly after _Harry Potter And The Order Of The Phoenix_. It's pretty much a canon sequel, with twists of my own. Don't expect it to be updated every day, or on a schedule. I've got several chapters done, but not enough to start adding one a day or a week.

That's it. Please review, let me know what you think, and most importantly, enjoy!

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**Harry Potter and the Veil of Murder  
by Raine Lionheart**

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Chapter One  
The Crup

For anyone who knew the residents of 4 Privet Drive intimately, it would come to no surprise that sparks were flying.

Literally.

Showers of golden and red sparks burst through the air right above the roof of the house, coming from, it seemed, the other side of the roofing, bursting through the paneling. A passerby would have perhaps blamed these sparks on an excited patron of the household, preparing fireworks for Guy Fawkes Day. However, these sparks were originating from a person.

On the first floor were two people: a very large, rotund boy, whose hair was flattened to the sides of his multiple-chin endowed head; clutching him from behind as if to protect him was a tall, horsy beast of a woman, the boy's mother. They were seeking refuge in the kitchen.

A level up were two more people, both of whom were on the verge of shattering every single window in a mile radius with their now echoing shouts. The older (and larger) man had a large purple face and no neck, which was compensated for by a huge, bushy moustache. He was exchanging words with a taller boy, who could not look any less like his uncle. He had grown to be a thin youth of average height, and at this moment, his eternally messy hair on end, his glasses were askew and his normally pale face was a deep crimson.

"I – DO – NOT – CARE – IF – THAT – RUDDY – BEAST – CROAKS!" shouted Uncle Vernon, making Harry Potter sure for a moment that steam would shoot from his overlarge uncle's ears. "It keeps your aunt and I up at night with its incessant barking, and we have more to worry about with this… Lord Whatsit after you!"

Vernon's glare drifted from Harry to the animal at his leg, which stared back, its eyes appearing to be narrowed in human fashion. It was about to let out a bark, but Vernon's bulging eyes seemed to change the Crup's mind.

"If you do not fix that beast," Vernon warned in a quiet tone, "I promise you," and with a deep breath, he continued shouting. "I'LL FIX YOU BOTH WITH A RUSTY KNIFE!"

Harry knew what his uncle meant, but did not waver. He hissed back, just as furious, "He'll do whatever the bloody hell he wants, and you will not lay a finger on him."

"You hardly have a choice boy!" Vernon challenged. "This is _my_ house, not yours." He looked very satisfied with himself at these words and continued. "I make the rules, and as a guest," he spat the last words with utter contempt, "you will abide by them."

"Your rules are a crock!"

"WHAT?"

Harry stood his ground. Uncle Vernon was fuming, but would not dare lay a hand upon him.

Harry took a new approach. "I suppose it's a rule that anyone or thing that's… "unnatural", and living here must pretend that they don't exist?"

Vernon's eyes widened.

"YES!"

A brief pause allowed for Harry to plan his next few words.

"All right. I'll keep Sirius quiet… and I might as well shut up too… I'm as unnatural as he is after all… let's see what happens after three or four days of silence, shall we?"

_Jackpot_, Harry thought to himself with grim satisfaction. As stupid as Vernon might appear to be at times, he had a remarkable common sense that worked best in his favor if threatened. Like this very moment, for example.

Harry hadn't directly threatened his uncle, but had planted the seed that blossomed the idea into weeds, spreading through his mind at a rapid pace.

"You… you dare try anything… anything like—"

"Anything that would call my friends here?" Harry finished.

Vernon's now puce face was scrunched in concentration. He seemed to be processing a response that would be in his favour…

"All right, all right, I won't harm your… _pet_," he snarled, emphasizing the word pet, to which the Crup growled loudly. "_But_," he replied, waving a finger at his nephew, "but, I cannot be held responsible for Dudley's actions towards that mangy mutt."

Harry snorted. "That mangy mutt" had frightened the boxing champ into staying away from Harry for the last two weeks. And now, "that mangy mutt" was chewing on the leg of Harry's bed.

"Stoppit," Harry muttered, prodding Sirius with his toe. The Crup whined and belly-crawled under Harry's bed, where he kept a wary eye on Vernon.

Harry turned back to his uncle. Without even looking into his uncle's swollen face, he said, quietly, "Leave the room please."

His uncle's eyes widened, as his mouth did, but Harry held up his hand.

"I'm only going to call Mr. Weasley. Not bewitch the walls to devour your whale of a son."

A glower crossed the face of Vernon Dursley, who raised a finger, about to say something, a something that came out as a "hmph". He stalked off, slamming Harry's door closed behind him.

Closing his eyes he let out a long-suffered sigh and resigned himself to sitting on his bed. Harry's mind wandered to the subject of his new friend, whose questionable taste in edibles included his old trainers.

The Crup had in fact been a gift. A collective gift from his friends in the Order of the Phoenix, who had been worried about him since the events of the past school year.

Ever since Harry had discovered that he was a world famous wizard (ironic really), he had noticed an increase in attention from both Muggle (a non-wizard) and wizard worlds. The Muggle attention was unwelcome and was specifically from his horrid relatives, the Dursleys, to whom Harry was connected with through the shared blood of his mother and her sister, Petunia; horsy, bitter Aunt Petunia, who had married Vernon. Only days after Lily and James Potter had been murdered, Harry had found himself in the unwelcome arms of his aunt and uncle. Both of whom hated anything that could never be deemed normal; witches and wizards were at the top of this list, and they decided to take this opportunity to smother Harry with chores and misery. They had hoped to stomp the magic from him.

However, on his eleventh birthday (which seemed like a century ago to Harry), he had received a letter from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the highest regarded institution of learning in Britain for young magic-wielders. Harry had met Rubeus Hagrid, quite literally his oldest friend now, and learned of his background, of the magic world, and of who he really was. And Hagrid had taken Harry from the Dursleys, at least temporarily, to show him what he had missed.

Since then, Harry had discovered that his parents had been murdered by Lord Voldemort, the most feared and deadly wizard of the past century. That same night, Voldemort had tried to set upon Harry with the Killing Curse, but failed due to incredible magic on the behalf of Harry's mother. Instead, the curse had been reflected back to Voldemort who, more immortal than mortal, had been torn from his body while Harry's only token of the night was a lightning bolt scar on his forehead and a deep psychic connection to Voldemort.

Harry's scar – the relic from this encounter with Voldemort at the age of one – had been burning constantly for the last few weeks. Not the occasional pricking that had accompanied him through his first four years of Hogwarts schooling, and more constantly through last year, but a mild searing, like that in the tongue after a large dose of Tabasco.

This had made Harry somewhat more irritable over the past month, but it reminded him of what he and the others were fighting for.

For Cedric, and Bertha Jorkins and the Longbottoms and… For Sirius… and my parents…

Five years had passed since Hagrid had first broken down that door; five years of schooling at Hogwarts, of playing Quidditch and delving into adventures with his friends. And over those five years, he had been happier then ever. And more grievous. And more recently, angrier.

Harry's life had been spiraling out of control for over a year now, beginning with the resurrection Voldemort. It had been in June, the last year, when Harry had found himself tied to a gravestone labelled "Tom Riddle". Bound and gagged, injured in countless places, staring into the cold, yet burning scarlet eyes of Lord Voldemort. Moments before, this vile creature had resurrected from the bones of his Muggle father, the flesh of his servent Wormtail and the blood of his arch nemesis – namely Harry.

On the ground, mere feet from them, had lay the corpse of one of Harry's fellow students, Cedric Diggory. Murdered at the hands of Voldemort.

Since the rebirth of Voldemort, Harry had been in the protection of the Order of the Phoenix, comprised of wizards and witches of all sorts, most of whom had fought Voldemort in the days of old, before his first encounter with Harry. Among these members (they were not, in fact, true members, but merely helpers and associates to the elder witches and wizards) were two of Harry's closest friends, whom he had met five years ago. Ron Weasley was a pure-blood wizard from a family whose name went back generations, but a family whose name was also very poor. Hermione Granger was an extremely bright Muggle-born witch with a short temper and a steadfast dedication to the rules (which she strayed from quite often for the sake of saving the wizarding world).

The Weasley family were brilliant bunch, and all (minus Ron's brother Percy, who remained neutral in the issues) were members of the Order. This included Arthur and Molly, Ron's parent's, and his four brothers Bill, Charlie and Ron's other two brothers, twins Fred and George. They were strongly connected to the Order, but remained busy with their new joke shop in Diagon Alley.

Two of Harry's professors from Hogwarts were members as well: Professors McGonagall (a stern, powerful witch who served as Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor) and Snape (the sallow-skinned, greasy Potions master whose hate for Harry was matched only by Harry's hate for him).

Remus Lupin, who had been a close friend of Harry's parents, was one of the chief members of the new Order. Alongside him were the legendary, if not paranoid Auror Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody; the young, brash, clumsy Nymphadora Tonks, a genius of disguise; and the statuesque Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt.

And then there was the Headmaster of Harry's school, Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore.

The one wizard Harry had trusted more than anyone in the world was Dumbledore. The wizard who had stood up to Voldemort and faced him as an equal. Albus Dumbledore, highly regarded as the world's most powerful wizard.

Still, Dumbledore's powers merely matched Voldemort's, they were not stronger. If this had not been the case, Voldemort would have been vanquished long before he could murder the Potters. And of course, his godfather Sirius would not be dead.

An escaped prisoner of the horrendous island of Azkaban, Sirius Black had come to find Harry not to kill him, but to avenge Harry's parents. Black had been their closest friend and was the perfect candidate to be their son's godfather. However, when James and Lily were betrayed by another friend, Peter Pettigrew, the finger was pointed to Sirius, who served thirteen years under the watch of the torrid Dementors before his much-publicized escape two years ago.

After escaping Azkaban, and seeking out Harry (and more importantly, the thought-dead Pettigrew, a follower of Voldemort's who had faked his death), Sirius had told his godson the entire story, and had promised to take Harry in, before being forced to flee once more from the Ministry and its Dementors. He had gone into hiding, helping Harry through the worst of times, whether in the form of a head, floating in the flames of the Gryffindor common room, or as the large bearhound that was his Animagus form.

Throughout Harry's fourth year, in which he had been forced head-on into the Triwizard Tournament, Sirius' guidance had been instrumental not only in his victory over the three true champions, but also in his survival through the trying tasks, which had been unknowingly rigged in Harry's favor. In the end, when Harry had found himself the champion by default (at the cost of Cedric's life), Sirius stood by him as long as he could before leaving once more, to avoid apprehension. Harry hadn't any need to feel alone for long, because as the summer began, he'd been swept away from the dreaded Dursley homestead to the Black Manor, where he saw more of Sirius than he had over the course of his life.

Before long, however, the school year had begun again, and with Harry at Hogwarts, his only interaction with Sirius came at the most inopportune times, ending with the devastating battle in the Department of Mysteries, in the Ministry of Magic's lower levels.

Sirius died there, and Harry would never forget that fact.

He had been killed by his own cousin, no less. The insane Bellatrix Lestrange had duelled with Harry's godfather, and had bested him, destroying Sirius with the Killing Curse that had stolen Lily and James Potter almost fifteen years before.

Harry had watched Sirius fall, dead, behind a dark, brooding curtain in the Department of Mysteries. But Sirius' death had become both insignificant and indescribably significant within moments. Ignoring all protests and all need to _find_ Sirius behind the veil, Harry had pursued Lestrange to the main lobby of the Ministry. Here, out of his mind with rage, Harry fell into the trap that Voldemort might have been planning to set since the release of Bellatrix and her compatriots from Azkaban; since his resurrection even. It was during his duel with Bellatrix that Harry had performed a curse so terrible, it was dubbed an Unforgivable Curse by all. The Cruciatus Curse, the Curse of Pain.

However, the curse had lasted a mere second, as Harry was unfamiliar with casting one of the three Unforgivable Curses. But this had been enough to show Harry how Sirius had affected him, in death. He'd mindlessly risked a life term in Azkaban for Sirius' honor.

Only three people knew what he had done: Albus Dumbledore, Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort.

The battle had ended, of course, with Voldemort's escape from the Ministry, and Dumbledore's decision to finally let Harry know the story behind his and Voldemort's twisted, binded future.

That story lay heavy on Harry mind still, but laying even heavier was the death of Sirius. Even after a month, give or take a few weeks, Harry could barely go an hour without thinking of his enigmatic, eccentric godfather, whom he had known for so short a time and yet loved as though he were a relative. Harry found himself crying in the middle of the night, going entire days without meals, keeping his head in the clouds, thinking of the days he'd spent with Sirius…

Which led to the Order's apparent paranoia. Ever since Sirius' murder, Harry had reflected on the Department of Mysteries and the battle that had ensued. He knew that he had acted irrationally, even stupidly; however, he also knew that his actions had been for the best, in some way.

Well, completely and utterly destroying Dumbledore's office was not for the best, even if it meant that Harry wasn't bottling his rage.

Lupin had been the one, apparently, who had stirred this paranoia within the group. He still saw Harry as a child (albeit, he was right, Harry was only sixteen; but still…) and felt that Harry needed more protection, most likely from the Dursleys, and perhaps a companion, especially since Hedwig, as an owl was not the affectionate type. Harry's friends would not be able to come within a mile of the Dursleys due to their hostility, and he could not expect to find friendship in his bloated cousin Dudley.

Enter Sirius the lovable Crup. On his birthday, when Harry had been awoken by the wet touch of a canine tongue, his immediate thought was that Sirius had come, to shake him from his month-long nightmare. He had discovered the Crup instead, who had taken to Harry as a wand takes to its owner. And in his current state, in need of a replacement, Harry had called the Crup Sirius.

He'd given thought to the suspicion that the animal was really a spy for the Order, keeping close tabs on him and maybe making sure that he wasn't preparing to do something stupid like run away. But even if that were the case, at least Sirius didn't fuss over him like Mrs. Weasley tended to.

Harry's thought train derailed, for at that moment, Sirius had taken to chewing an old jumper of Dudley's, a hideous olive green _thing_ that Aunt Petunia had forced upon him. Harry smirked and tossed Sirius the pair of faded mustard socks.

"I don't know which of these would make you sicker, boy…"

Harry now decided to pick up from where he had left off. Before his uncle had come to chew him out about Sirius' barking, he'd been finishing up a letter to Luna Lovegood, a rather odd girl from Ravenclaw that Harry and his friends had somehow befriended over the course of the last year. Harry had been surprised when, through a few brief conversations, he found that he shared quite a bit in common with Luna. Which was not exactly a good thing, considering her nickname was Loony Lovegood. But anyone who was an avid Quidditch-eer, and Ministry skeptic, was worth as a friend, whether their nickname be Loony, Squibs or Moon Unit.

_Dear Luna,_

_How is your summer so far? Mine is horrible. The Muggles I told you about are being the teensiet bit nicer, though this can hardly be noticed, as I get a yelling-at once a day without fail.._

_Oh, this isn't so bad. In fact, for my birthday I got a Crup! The Order _(Harry had long started to trust Luna, one of those involved in the Department of Mysteries fiasco, and had told her about the Order) _thinks that he'll help me, maybe by keeping me amused, by biting my cousin if he comes within a metre of me, or something. In any case, I named him Sirius… for obvious reasons._

_How has your father's magazine been printing? I hope he's had more business since my interview. He certainly helped me in printing it. Be sure to express my gratitude to him for the help he provide, will you?_

_Well, I hope that your summer is better than mine. Owl me the results of the next few Quidditch matches will you? I still don't trust the _Daily Prophet

Your friend,

Harry

PS. I hope you got all of your things back by term end.

Harry folded and enveloped the letter, then glanced out the window, in hopes of seeing Hedwig's silhouette approaching. But she was off, delivering a letter to Lupin, thanking him and the others for Sirius (although he omitted the Crup's name so that Lupin would not raise alarm to Harry's current state). He would have to wait another day or so to send off Luna's letter.

Harry had found it a bit awkward to think about the spacy, indifferent Ravenclaw girl at summer's start, as a feeling of pity had developed in him towards her. Seeing how people treated her, Harry hadn't the faintest idea if she would take his letters seriously. As Harry spent days alone in his room, playing with Sirius or writing letters, or doing schoolwork, he had much time to think about this, and he'd pondered the feeling of pity. Somehow, it didn't seem right. Instead, as they wrote each other back and forth, Harry felt that a friendship as deep as his with Ron or Hermione might form between them.

"Hey! Not that pair!"

Harry sighed and pulled a pair of jeans away from Sirius, who began chewing at his old jumper instead. Harry lay on his bed, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses.

Tap tap.

The noise startled Harry. He looked out the window to see an owl perched upon his sill.

With his involvement in the battle in the Department of Mysteries last year, Neville Longbottom had become a good friend of Harry's. The two boys shared more in common than meets the eye because Neville, it was now known to Harry, was a pivotal piece in the prophecy that connected Harry to Lord Voldemort. The prophecy stated that the boy born under the dying of July, whose parents had thrice escaped the Dark Lord, would be his undoing. Both these points were true of Neville and Harry. However, it was the last bit that separated Harry from the other boy, as Voldemort had marked Harry as his equal, that night fifteen years ago. Neville, while being a strong force, could never hope to face Voldemort as an equal.

Yet, in spite of this, Harry felt that Neville would play a part in Harry's survival in the future, as a friend more than a simple ally. And so, he'd started writing the other boy as soon as he returned to the Privet Drive, as he had Luna Lovegood. And because of his steadfast trust in Harry, Neville became entrusted with secrets that Harry had only trusted to Ron and Hermione in the past.

Last summer, Harry had been upset with Ron and Hermione, and even Sirius, for the lack of answers in their letters to him. Now, it seemed as if the pair were ignoring him outright, which hearkened him to remember his first summer back from Hogwarts, when their letters had been intercepted and hidden from Harry. This time around, however, Harry was more upset with Ron and Hermione to care that he'd only received two or three letters apiece from them. After all, Harry now had Neville and Luna as correspondents to keep him occupied.

Opening his window, Harry watched Neville's owl flutter over to his desk, where he waited patiently for Harry to untie note on his foot. It was a short letter from Harry's new friend that helped to brighten his mood ever so slightly, as the sun disappeared over the horizon completely.

_Harry,_

_Glad to hear that you've been treated with some decency. That Dudley seems to be a stupider version of Draco Malfoy. I'd say that he's worth twelve of that Slytherin, not me _(Harry grinned sheepishly).

_My gram still stands by her words, and trusts you more than the Ministry. She's even stopped her subscription to the _Daily Prophet_ because of all the slanderous filth they spewed against you before turning about with the news that Voldemort _(the name was very blotted, Harry had a hard time reading it) _had returned. She sends her regards and hopes to see you before sixth year starts._

_I'll close here. I've got chores to do._

_Oh! And Happy Birthday Harry._

_Neville "Squibs" Longbottom_

Harry admired much about Neville, mostly his dedication to his parents, Alice and Frank Longbottom. They'd been Aurors in the early days of Voldemort's reign, original members of the Order Of The Phoenix, and had suffered the Cruciatus Curse until their sanity broke, at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange and three other Death Eaters. They now resided at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, where Neville would faithful visit them with his grandmother.

Harry felt deeply for Neville, perhaps more sorry for him than he did himself, because he felt that at least his parents weren't suffering some horrid existence as Neville's were.

Harry replied immediately to Neville's letter.

Neville,

You're not far off, Dudley's the type that the Sorting Hat would likely place in Slytherin. Probably a step behind Crabbe and Goyle, which is saying something.

That doesn't seem to be a problem however. My crup (a present from Lupin and the Order) has scared Dudley out of my presence seemingly forever. I wonder how long it'll last.

Give your gram my regards and thank her for believing the word of an "addle-brained" young hooligan such as myself.

Thanks for the Sweet Sprout. It certainly makes living on carrots and bread more bearable I wish I had something to send you for your birthday too, but I'm afraid that my days are spent indoors mostly.

Ron, Hermione and I are planning on meeting in Diagon Alley sometime in the last week of August, and you're more than welcome to join us. I can buy you something there, although Luna should be there, and I know that will be something of a pleaser for you… hee hee.

Let me know if you can make it.

Your friend

Harry

Harry tied his note to the leg of Dasher, Neville's tawny owl, and let him fly out the window into the midnight air. Harry sat down on his bed again before remembering that he still had to call Mr. Weasley. Another distraction keeping him from bed.

Harry had been issued a phone by his uncle at the beginning of the summer for this very purpose: he had no desire to listen in on a conversation between his freak nephew and his abnormal kind in the living room. So Harry had found this to be a good opportunity to ring Ron and Hermione on occasion (Mr. Weasley usually let Harry speak to Ron when he called).

Harry dialed the number off by heart. He had absorbed it into his memory after reading it for the first time after Mr. Weasley had given it to him at King's Cross. He heard three rings before a click, followed by a muffled cacophony in the background. Harry distinctly heard Mr. Weasley yell, "Put that _away_ George!" before he said, "Harry!" Mr. Weasley's voice, from the other end, was clearly excited and no doubt relieved. "How are you m'boy?"

"All right, all things considered," he replied thoughtfully. "I haven't had a vision yet, if that's any consolation."

Mr. Weasley spoke with less volume now; the din of the Burrow had shut up very quickly. "Excellent, excellent, the "tall man" suspected that might happen. We don't think "our friend" wants to reveal to much to you, and is keeping his mind clear…" "Our friend" was code for Voldemort, something the ever vigilant Mad-Eye Moody insisted they use in their conversations lest their telephone line was tapped. "And how about your scar?"

Harry winced at being reminded, rubbing the now burning flesh wound above his eyebrow.

"Still on slow burn," he reported. "Three weeks now."

_And I still haven't gone insane… well, not completely at any rate_.

"That isn't a good sign Harry," Mr. Weasley said. "We think that, with the "ugly guys" on "our friend's" side, the "sad place" has become his base of operations."

So Azkaban was Voldemort's new home. It made sense, now that the Dementors had sided with him.

"The "home team" hasn't been able to cross onto the island ever since the Department of Mys—"

He stopped before finishing the sentence, knowing that Harry would most likely react. However, Harry seemed to ignore the last few words, and said, "This definitely is not good."

"The "tall man" has made an appeal to the "Head Honcho"," Mr. Weasley continued, referring to Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge, the Minister Of Magic. "He's suggested that we keep a close eye on not only the "sad place", but the "home team's" offices as well. My level has been interrogated several times this week by the "good guys"."

"What did F— uh, the "Grand Idiot" say about Az— er, the "sad… place"?" Harry asked, trying to ignore the nonsense coming out of his mouth.

Mr. Weasley clucked his tongue. "He agreed with the "tall man"," Mr. Weasley replied, "although a bit grudgingly. He's still upset over the… er… the attack, as he put it, at the… "big house"."

"Mr. Weasley? Do you think we really need all this nonsense code? I doubt Voldemort would know a telephone from a hot iron."

"I think I agree with you Harry," Mr. Weasley said. "I'm starting to question Moody's methods again."

Harry snorted, but returned to all seriousness at once when Mr. Weasley dropped the charade and the bombshell.

"Aurors are on patrol at the coast, and in the Ministry. And (although I shouldn't tell you this) in Hogwarts as well."

Now a groan erupted from Harry, who most vehemently hated any extra attention, something that was guaranteed within the wizarding world. While Arthur Weasley made it seem as though the Aurors stationed at Hogwarts were there to guard the students and the halls of Magic Britian's pride and joy, Harry had no doubt that he was a higher priority to the Ministry. At Dumbledore's insistence.

But even as this thought finished scrolling through his head, a new, gleaming thought came to mind.

"Anyone we know?"

Arthur chuckled on the other end of the line. "Yes, in fact, many that we do. Dumbledore pulled a few strings and received a full compliment of friends. Kingsley, Tonks, Daedelus, Remus, Mad-Eye, Mundungus…"

"I thought that you said that there were going to be Aurors at Hogwarts? Only Moody, Kingsley and Tonks are, aren't they?"

"Well, there will be more as well, five others in fact."

Absorbing this information, Harry considered what his sixth year at Hogwarts was to be like. Interesting, to say the least, if not slightly unpleasent. Especially around the Slytherins. Draco Malfoy, to be specific, now that his father was a wanted man, and a death threat hung between him and Harry now.

"I can understand Aurors being there, but Lupin, Dung and Daedelus? Does this have anything to do with Malfoy?"

"As a matter of fact," Mr. Weasley replied at once, "it does. Professor Snape informed Dumbledore about your… er… confrontation just before term end. Remus is to watch over—"

"—over me to make sure that I'm a good boy and that nobody tries to rearrange my vital organs."

"Er, in a matter of speaking…"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"It's for your own good Harry," Mr. Weasley said, as if sensing this ocular gesture.

"That's what you keep saying."

"It is." Mr. Weasley didn't miss a beat on that one.

"I suppose the Aurors of the Order aren't simply there for décor, are they?"

"Harry—"

"Why can't you lot realize that _I'm fine_?"

"Are you Harry?"

"YES!

_No, you're not_, nagged a tiny, annoying voice in Harry's mind. _Sirius' death has you degenerated into a child. Bawling at night and unable to handle yourself._

_I can handle myself_, he retorted to himself.

_Tell that to the Muggle report who reported on the colorful sparks shooting out your window two weeks ago_.

Harry grimaced and waited for Arthur to respond.

"Harry, I'm sorry, but I've got to be going. Dung's just come by, needs me to speak to Kingsley about something or other. Would you like to talk to Ron?"

Harry's normal reaction was to say yes, because he usually had faith in Ron to tell him what was going on in the rest of the world. But Harry stop thinking about his and Hermione's mutinous silence over the summer and surprised himself by curtly responding, "No, not tonight, thanks."

And before Arthur could respond to that, the phone was out of Harry's hand and back on the cradle.

He regretted this, of course. As Harry let himself collapse into his bed, exhausted and upset, it prodded at him, made him wonder if he was a good friend after. He put his glasses onto the bedside table and sank into his mattress as Sirius curled up at his feet, ever vigilant.

I wonder if Mad-Eye trained him for that.

As he lay on his there, trying in vain to get some sleep, it gnawed at Harry, how he'd ended his conversation with Mr. Weasley. What disturbed him the most was how he had turned down talking to his closest friend in the world out of spite, when Ron hadn't really done anything at all. Neither had Hermione for that matter, but he was just as upset with her.

In fact, it was the first time he could recall being angry with both of his best friends, and questioning his friendship with them.


	2. A Whisper From Nowhere

**Author's Notes:** Now I remember why I stopped posting here. I hate the effing editing system...

All right, this is where it all goes wrong for our hero. It's also the setting in motion of several events that'll lead to different aspects of the storyline. And a great old roadtrip to merry old London.

I want to ask readers to do something. Instead of just saying, "omfg wow this stry rox0rs me kthxbye", I'd like some criticism or details about what I wrote that made it work. Thanks.

Without further ado, chapter two.

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Chapter Two  
A Whisper From Nowhere

Perhaps it was the fact she was the first female he'd seen that summer, other than Aunt Petunia, that made Harry's stomach jolt when he opened the front door of 4 Privet Drive to find Nymphadora Tonks beaming up at him. Perhaps it was because hers was the first friendly (and pretty for that matter) face he'd seen in over a month. Maybe it was the fact that she was a witch, and could associate with Harry in ways the Dursleys would dread.

All he knew was that the moment he recognized her through her new look (long black and red hair, black clothes and a smile that belonged nowhere on this sort of look), his stomach gave a funny jolt. He didn't realize at the time that this feeling had been previously reserved for one other, a girl named Cho, from Hogwarts. Harry brushed the feeling aside – in fact, he had to – when Tonks said, "Wotcher Harry!" in her trademark style, and pulled him into a tight hug.

"T-Tonks? What're you doing here? … Um, I—can't breathe."

Tonks let go and put Harry at arms length to examine him. "Hmm. Not looking too shabby Harry. I was expecting to find you thinner than a twig and paler than the Bloody Baron. Looks like them Muggles are treatin' you well."

"I guess," he muttered. He was glad he was wearing such baggy clothes, or she would have noticed how thin he had become, though not as bad as she had imagined. Still, cinching a belt more than three inches past its last notch wasn't healthy. He invited Tonks inside and closed the door behind them.

"Blimey, don't they ever redecorate this place?" Tonks asked after a brief sweep of the lounge, which hadn't changed in the slightest since her last visit here the previous summer.

"What? You expect my uncle to change his living room around when it's immaculate as it is?"

"In my household, we're lucky to go a week without a redecoration disaster."

"My uncle's so Muggle that anything that doesn't fit a time schedule disturbs him," he explained. Tonks sniggered.

Harry was fortunate that the Dursleys were out for the entire day – some stupid Grunnings-related event, no doubt – so he had no fear of being punished for associating with Tonks. Had Vernon and Petunia known that Tonks, a witch, was standing within a mile of their home (or in their kitchen, for that matter), Harry would've been padlocked in the downstairs closet faster than he could say "_Crucio"_.

This thought twisted his stomach. Harry frantically set his mind in the other direction.

"What're you doing here Tonks?" he asked. He pulled her hand back before she could prod the coffee grinder with her wand.

"Checking up on you, of course," she explained with a shrug. "Arthur said that you'd been a bit short with him on the fellytone—"

"Telephone," Harry corrected.

"—Whatever. Anyway, we were a bit concerned, and I so I decided to pop down to see you."

Blushing more from annoyance than embarrassment, Harry asked, "The Order were a bit concerned because I was short with Mr. Weasley, who was once again treating me like a child? What else do you folk worry about, Communism in the East and the Women's vote?"

"Har har, Harry. It was mostly Remus. He'd kill me if he knew I was—" Tonks coughed and grinned rather timorously. Her eyes avoided Harry's, and she changed the subject. "Hey, how about a walk, huh? Stretch your legs a bit? Old Figg down the street's said that you've been out of the house no more than twice since you got here."

Harry forced down another complaint about his constantly being monitored and diffidently said, "Sure. I need some air."

Not that he didn't want to leave the house. His worries matched those of the Order's: that a Death Eater would be waiting in ambush for him, and that his efforts to stay alive and alert through the summer would be wasted. But being in the company of Tonks, an Auror and a good friend, was more comfort than the paranoia could handle.

They left Privet Drive and wandered down the street.

Harry noticed that they were heading away from Arabella Figg's place

"I know that you hate being watched," Tonks said, noticing Harry's expectant glance down the street. "You need to relax Harry. You're safe with me."

He let himself calm down a bit.

As they walked, Harry told Tonks about his new friendships with Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbotton respectively. He supposed that the Order would take this as a good sign and ease up on their worry over them. Tonks seemed to.

"Although I'm not as worried about you as Molly or Remus are," she assured him. "You're made of stronger stuff than most. I've told them that, but they just don't listen. Even Kinglsey and Arthur say you don't need this coddling. At the same time, we don't want you to close up on us.

"That's one of the reasons I think a companion like Sirius is good for you."

Stunned, Harry stopped in his tracks, but Tonks merely walked on.

"How did—"

"Oh, we all knew you'd name him Sirius," Tonks said. She threw him a shrewd grin over her shoulder… only to destroy the charade of grace and dignity as she stumbled over the curb.

"Why do you think Sirius is good for me?" he asked once Tonks had composed herself.

"Because Sirius won't nag you or ask you if you're all right every five minutes," She explained. "And I know that's exactly the sort of thing you don't need. You're too independent for that."

Harry remember asking her about becoming a Metamorphmagus once, and her accurate assumption that he'd like the power to hide his scar from public sight.

"Having people suffocate you with good wishes and constant worry does more damage than helping," she was saying. "You've needed space since the Triwizard Tournament, maybe even before that, but you've also needed something to keep you from turning completely inward. So I suggested to Lupin and Moody that maybe a friend without such mollycoddling affection would be the trick."

"I thought that he was an Order spy when you lot first sent him," Harry admitted with a small grin.

Tonks let loose a musical laugh; whimsical and giddy and infectious. Harry chuckled too; this escalated into full-blown mirth, and he soon found himself choking on his own voice.

_Been long enough since you've done that_, remarked that annoying inner voice.

* * *

Tonks left Harry a small gift before she departed: three bottles of Butterbeer, the Hogwarts' drink of choice among student. Harry hid these beneath the floorboards in his bedroom with a few gifts he'd received for his birthday (Ron and the twins' small box of Wheezes; Hermione's tome _How To Conquer Your NEWTS (Without The Mess)_; Hagrid's rock cake and treacle fudge; and Mrs. Weasley's sweet pasties). Then he pulled out one of his school books, so that he could continue on with his homework. 

Despite the fact that the OWL's that had brutalized the fifth years' confidence in their abilities, the professors at Hogwarts had assigned their usual avalanche of summer work onto their students, sparing nobody. As it was just past the beginning of August, Harry was impressed by his progress through his school work this summer. He'd finished about ten percent of it so far, which was a damn sight more than any year (save the third year summer, in which he'd had a month to do all the work he wanted to). He had a lot of essays to write, but figured that with a month to go, he'd be able to squeeze them into his thus far empty schedule.

This week he'd been working on his History Of Magic work, which threatened to bore him to death every evening. But he'd braved it so far and his efforts would be rewarded. Tonight was his last night on the horrid subject.

Tomorrow he'd begin his Potions' work.

Maybe he'd let the History of Magic work drag out another week.

Turning his attention to his essay, Harry tried not to think about Potions. Or more specifically, Professor Snape, the most dreaded (and dreadful) person staffed at Hogwarts, whose only contender was the vicious school caretaker, Argus Filch. Severus Snape, who had been at Hogwarts with Harry's father and mother, and their friends, had not let a generation end his hatred for the name Potter. He fed off the torment of not just Harry, but all students not in his house of Slytherin.

The fact that he was a former Death Eater didn't help much either.

Nor the fact that he was an expert in the art of Occlumency, which allowed him to view Harry's most secret and private memories, likely more horrible than the last.

Harry was sure, even now, that he had added the last straw to the mule's back when he had fallen into Snape's pensieve and relived his professor's worst memory – being tormented at the hands of Harry's father and godfather. While almost all the rest of the student body watched with hidden or obvious glee. Harry feared being in the same country as the greasy Potions Master.

However, it was only August. For now, all he had to worry about was spelling Tortin Beeblebrox's name correctly.

He'd just finished his History Of Magic essay on the various Warlocks' Conventions of the last millenium when he heard a whisper from behind him.

"_Stolen…_"

Harry whirled around in his seat as goosebumps broke out over his arms and neck. It felt as if the temperature in his room had just plummeted several degrees. He knew that voice, he knew it from somewhere.

"Who said that?" he asked in a low voice.

But the silence did not waver.

_It must be the scar,_ he thought. _It's making my mind play tricks on itself._

But it wasn't. In fact, he couldn't feel his scar. The burning that had been plaguing him for so long had gone. Harry ran a finger over the ancient scar, and his breath hitched.

Nothing. It's not burning.

Harry turned back to the room behind him, wondering if the whisper he had heard had done this.

But the longer he stared at the empty wall, the more he was filled with unease.

* * *

He phoned Mr. Weasley and told him about the incident. 

Arthur listened without a word until Harry was finished. Then, he simply told Harry that he would phone him back the next day after consulting with Dumbledore, then hung up abruptly. Harry stared at the receiver for a moment before replacing it, a bit miffed, but also heartened that Mr. Weasley hadn't started up the same routine as he usually did. Still fazed, Harry decided to put his homework away and get some sleep. Or food. Whichever agreed with him better.

The latter prevailed, and soon Harry had a hearty sandwich prepared, in hand, and devoured. This was a change, as Harry hadn't had much appetite since May, perhaps. He wolfed down a second sandwich, then returned to his room.

Even as he had eaten his meal, Harry's mind had been focused on the whisper he'd heard earlier, trying to place the voice with all those he'd heard since he'd begun at Hogwarts.

It was definitely a man's voice, it was too deep to be a fellow student's. And the tone, from what he could reckon, was a bit stern, not at all a drawl, like that of the Malfoy's. Not high pitched like Voldemort's eerie tone (which had pushed the thought of another vision from Harry's mind). No, this was definitely a friendly voice, only more strained, perhaps stressed.

He kept playing the moment in his mind, over and over, for at least an hour before he climbed into his bed. He stared up at the ceiling, shifted onto his side and stared at the desk, where he'd been sitting when the voice had intruded his thoughts.

On the desk was a box that had only been opened once since Harry had gotten it. Inside was a mirror given to him by Sirius before his murder. The mirror was the one thing that Harry knew could have prevented Sirius' demise. If only he had trusted Sirius more, when he'd given Harry the package. He had told himself that using whatever the contents of the box turned out to be would be a way to lure Sirius away from his manor and into the danger of the wizard world, where he was hunted by Death Eaters and Aurors alike. But had Harry used the mirror to speak to Sirius before falling for Kreacher's treacherous deception, Sirius would still be alive and safe.

Harry had only discovered that the package was a two-way mirror after Sirius had died, and in his self-rage, he'd smashed the last gift that Sirius had given him.

Harry let out a sob.

No, Sirius' last gift to you was your life.

Harry straighened up and felt revelation spread through him. It was a warm feeling, an enlightening feeling.

Sirius sacrificed himself for you. For the wizarding world. If you hadn't gone to the Ministry, then Voldemort would have recovered the Prophecy for himself.

It was as if a huge weight had lifted off of Harry's shoulders. His head swam with a buzzing giddiness that told him that the idiot voice inside his head was right. Sirius had, unintentionally no doubt, saved Harry's life, as well as those of every last witch, wizard and Muggle on the planet.

It was a bittersweet thought that let to another chilling revelation.

_Sirius_.

Harry sat up in his bed, literally gasping for air.

The whisper.

It had been Sirius.

* * *

Harry avoided the Dursleys the next day by locking himself in his room. He was waiting mostly for the telephone to ring, which it did just before noon. Harry picked up on the first ring. 

"Mr. Weasley, I have to tell you something."

"I'd love to hear it," said the voice on the end of the line, "but I think you'd be disappointed when I claim to have no clue what you're talking about."

"Tonks?"

"Wotcher Harry." She giggled over the line.

"Where's about Mr. Weasley?"

"Whassamatter, don't want to chit-chat with your pal Tonks?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but all the same let himself smirk. "Sure Nymphadora. Why not."

"Grr! Don't. Call. Me. That… Potter."

Harry chuckled. "What's new? How'd you get my number?"

Tonks would have shrugged, he pictured. "I'm at the Manor (Harry knew she was referring to 12 Grimmauld Place). Arthur told me I could call you if I wanted, since it seems that nobody else has time to."

"What do you mean?"

"Well Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the twins are all busy between school work, setting up shop in Diagon Alley and trying to keep an ear out for word on Voldemort. Frankly, I think they've forgotten that the telephone exists."

"Does Mr. Weasley have anything to tell me about last night?"

"I don't know," she grumbled, "he hasn't let on a word about it to anyone aside from Dumbledore. Not even Moody knows what you said."

"No sense in keeping it quiet," Harry said. "I'd tell Ron and Hermione if I could…" _Probably not_, the Nag pointed out. _You're a bit miffed, aren't you? "…_but they aren't keeping in contact…"

_Reminds me of last summer_, he thought glumly.

"What _did _happen?" Tonks pressed.

Harry told her about the whisper, and then told her about his realization the previous night. He thought that she would be skeptical, but was pleasently surprised by her acceptance.

"You knew Sirius well, you treated him like a brother or a father even," Harry couldn't miss the trace of sadness in Tonks – Sirius had been a cousin through blood and marriage, as she'd been the daughter of his cousin Andromeda Black – and his heart gripped coldly for a moment. "I'm sure that if you thought you heard his voice, then you bloodly likely did."

"I know it was," Harry murmured.

Neither of them spoke for several moments. Then Tonks said, "Look, Arthur isn't back from Hogwarts yet, but I'll pass on what you told me if you'd like."

"All right," he said. He didn't want to hang up now, not when he was able to talk to someone other than Sirius or the back of Dudley's fat head. So he asked, "Tonks, do you think that you could drop by again sometime? Keep me company?"

There was a pause before Tonks replied, "Of course." Harry probably imagined the pleasure in her voice. "How about I drop by this afternoon?"

"All right," Harry said with a wide smile. Where had that come from?

"See you Harry!" Tonks said brightly.

"This afternoon," he confirmed. "Bye." And he hung up.

* * *

There was a hitch. 

"You _what?_" Uncle Vernon asked in a voice so soft, so calm, Harry wondered if perhaps he should be standing behind bullet proof glass.

Vernon only spoke like this when he was ready to _destroy_ something.

Or someone.

"I've invited a friend over. For the afternoon. Just a few hours."

Vernon's purple face was registering a deep crimson. It was starting to moisten under the heat of his contained fury.

"And just what, pray tell," his uncle started in that same, even voice, "makes you think that I'll allow anyone who lets you call them your… friend—" He had to force the word out, "—into my house?" There was a definate twitch in his right eye, but he composed his still reddening face into the mask of polite inquiry.

"It's Tonks," he said, as if stating a well known fact. "You saw her at King's Cross earlier this summer. The pink-haired girl—" Vernon glowered "—with Ron's dad, and the others. You know," and Harry failed to stop himself from savoring the next two words, "the Order."

Albert Enstein would have been impressed with the blue shift in Vernon Dursley's face. Harry would have timed the change from deep red through green to sickly white at no more than three seconds. He wondered for a moment if it was healthy, but merely stared at his uncle's pallid face.

The silence was too thick to cut with a knife, let alone a chainsaw. It lasted at least two minutes, while Vernon suffered an aneurysm, recovered, suffered a mild stroke, recovered, then finally gave the first indication of his utter, incredible rage. He took a deep breath, and Harry momentarily feared that a verbal (and perhaps physical) thrashing was about to be unleashed.

But all Vernon could say was, "Bluh."

It escaped him with his breath. Like air escaping a balloon. A sigh, even. It seemed to die before it could even start.

Harry stared.

Vernon stared back.

"U-uncle… Vernon?"

Vernon's eyes bulged, and Harry was sure that it was coming this time.

"Bluh."

And with that, Vernon dragged himself out of the room, looking utterly defeated.

And all Harry could do was stare.

_I think I broke his brain_, he thought incrediously.

* * *

He didn't make much more of his uncle's reaction than utter defeat. Harry was too thrilled, and frankly, surprised by the lackluster response on his uncle's behalf to care what had happened. He spent the rest of the morning in his room, waiting for Tonks' arrival, passing the time by adding notes to his Potions essay and playing with Sirius. 

A brutal screech from the downstairs tore Harry away from tug-of-war with his Crup. Frantically, Harry pried the floorboard beneath his bed up and grabbed his wand from its hiding place before stepping out into the hallway. Another screech, this one louder than the first, told Harry that Aunt Petunia had stumbled upon something most unnatural.

Namely, her husband's state.

"VERNON! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

Harry sniggered when he heard a feeble "Bluh," in response.

"WHAT IS IT VERNON? SPEAK TO ME!"

"… Bluh."

Harry braced himself, quite smartly.

"BOY!"

Dudley was cowering at the landing of the stairs, and yelped at the sight of Harry coming down. Shame he scurried off, but Harry supposed it would be better that way. He needed to deal with this on his own.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS GOOD AND CLEAN DID YOU DO TO YOUR UNCLE?" Petunia shrieked madly.

"Nothing! I swear."

Vernon sprang from his seat, pointing to Harry as if to make an accusation, which came out sounding like this: "Bluh-uh." Diminished, defeated, he sat again, eyes furiously locked on his nephew.

"I didn't do anything, honest! If I'd used magic, you'd know!"

"THEN WHAT HAPPENED?"

Harry shrugged and suggested, "Maybe he blew a neuron?"

He could not have made it worse for himself.

There went a candlestick, missing him by mere centimeters. Next came the _Complete, Unabridged Works of William Shakespeare _that missed him by meters and smashed through the wall to Harry's right. He ducked to avoid a glass vase that exploded just behind him.

"GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!"

Another vase exploded above his head, showering him in glass, and was joined by a large framed family portrait, which grazed Harry's head.

"LEAVE AND NEVER BRING YOUR MOTHER'S FILTHY BLOOD—"

He found his wand in his hand, pointed directly at his raving aunt. Frozen, her eyes widened, which had been the desired effect. Harry had a word formed in his mind, and his throat when, to his left, the front door opened.

"Wotcher Dursl—_holy hellhound!_"

* * *

Just to answer some questions from the reviews: 

**uni2617 - **Well, considering my last attempt at a post-novel fic (Harry Potter And The Pupil Of Redemption, self-insertion and such), I decided that I wanted to try and keep the JK feel alive while using my own style to write. We've got the disastrous exit from the Dursleys in this chapter, a new teacher in Defence Against The Dark Arts (although I took liberties with this one), an unpleasant Snape that does not grow to like Harry, and, of course, the incorrigible Gred and Forge.

**Strawberry Pancakes** - I hope this chapter gave you some insight on Sirius the Crup and his character.

**Spezlee** - I can't imagine either one of them betraying Harry, because their characters contradict that possibility. And they won't be drifiting completely, just making changes to their friendships.

**SiriusLeeBlack09** - Actually, I haven't read Fantastic Creatures. But when I had the idea for Harry to get a new pet when I started writing this I checked the Harry Potter Lexicon and read about Crups. I was more interested in Kneazles because of Crookshanks, but read about Crups and fell in love with the idea. Besides, I decided that because Hermione already had Crookshanks, a Kneazle, Harry should be allowed his own domestic, magical friendly companion type pet. And besides, Sirius' Animagus form? Come on, can you top a dog?


	3. To London

****

**Author's Notes**: The title is inspired by the Mike Oldfield song (covered so beautifully by Blind Guardian) "To France". Yeah. Guess what this one is about. Mild fluff, some laughs. Next chapter has a bit more excitement, a development… can't say more yet.

Also, I've posted more comments and answers at the bottom. Thanks for the reviews! Keep 'em coming!

On with the show!

****

Chapter Three  
To London

In most other circumstance, Harry would have leveled his wand on the person in the doorway and stunned them into next month, but he knew only one person who said "Wotcher". So he merely glanced to Tonks, whose jaw was ajar, and said, "Good timing, I'm going to need help disposing of the bodies."

Tonks stared dumbfounded at Harry (whose face was burning with hot blood fueled by the intense hatred in his eyes) for a second longer, then looked at Petunia (who had taken to imitating a statue) to Vernon (whose mouth kept opening and closing) and finally back to Harry.

"PUT YOUR EFFIN' WAND DOWN HARRY!"

She didn't wait, and merely snatched it out of his hand before he could say a word.

Petunia took a step back and started to breathe again.

"_Do you want to get expelled_!" Tonks demanded.

"I—"

"_Are you even using your head_?"

"Tonks—"

"_You can't do magic outside of school_!"

"Tonks—"

"_If you want to obliterate your relatives, let somebody else do it for you!_"

"But I only—wait, what?"

"What?" squeaked Aunt Petunia.

Suddenly, Tonks whipped her wand out from her holster and had it trained on Harry's relatives.

"Don't move you filthy Muggles," she hissed coldly. She needn't have. Petunia had resumed her statue imitation, and Vernon's mouth now merely hung open.

"Harry," Tonks said, now calmly, though her pale face was flushed, "grab all your things. I have the feeling that you're not welcome here anymore."

He didn't hesitate. He rushed up the stairs and in three minutes flat, he had his trunk packed and had intercepted Hedwig (returning from Lupin's) with instructions to fly to 12 Grimmauld Place, or Hogwarts. Sirius was bounding around him, jumping up and down, whining.

"C'mon boy," he muttered and began dragging his trunk down the stairs.

Nobody had moved while Harry had gone. As Harry reached the landing, Tonks moved aside to give him room. Very quickly, she cast a Shrinking Charm on his trunk, which allowed him to pick it up in his hand – still quite heavy, but more manageable – before returning her aim to the Dursleys.

"Now… Harry, we're going to back out of the door and leave this thrice-cursed house. And these two aren't going to try and stop us. Okay?"

Harry nodded.

"Okay?" Tonks said to the Dursleys, both of whom nodded just as vigorously.

"Good." She turned her head to Harry and said, "Harry, run to our friend's place. Now."

Without a second glance, Harry tore out of 4 Privet Drive and dashed down the street, in the direction of Arabella Figg's, Sirius close at his heels.

They weren't alone very long. Tonks caught up to them by the third block, looking more amused than angry now.

"I swear Harry, I've never met anyone who could live with such horrid Muggles."

They vaulted a low hedge simultaneously and landed in Mrs. Figg's front yard on both feet. Sirius twisted in mid-air and, proving to be clumsier than Tonks, crashed head first into a garden gnome.

Tonks doubled over, panting, as did Harry. The adreneline was almost too much for him, but Tonks, who seemed to have recovered quicker than he, gave him a small push toward Mrs. Figg's door.

"We'll have to lie low here for now," Tonks told him firmly, and it struck Harry then how mature Tonks really could be. Both of them. There were two Tonks's standing in front of him.

She noticed his expression and ordered him to sit, which he did. Sirius, leaving the remains of his attacker gnome behind, trotted up to Harry and licked him across the face. Tonks grinned, then knocked at the door.

The two young magickers and their crup companion listened for Mrs. Figg, but no sound came from inside the house. Not even the mewwing of one of her innumerable cats – kneazles, actually, as Harry had learned. Tonks knocked again and waited, but not a sound came.

"Oh shite," Tonks muttered.

"Indeed," Harry said, scratching Sirius behind the ears.

"Harry," and now Tonks sounded quite scared. Harry's head had cleared up now, and he looked up to find just one Tonks looking down at him.

"We're stuck Harry. Arabella must be at Grimmauld Place. Which means we have no place to go but there."

"_What_? Are you serious?"

She just nodded.

"But that's in London! That's hours away! How are we going to get there? I can't do magic, let alone go back to my aunt and uncle's!"

Tonks bit her lip, looking decidedly tense. She began to pace, but stopped and stood, her chin in her hand. Something seemed to occur to her then, because a sly grin sudden spread over her face.

"Well, a journey to London could be fun, you know."

Harry gaped.

"Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," she said, her face belaying this. "I'd Apparate ahead of you and try to work something out with the Order, but it's too dangerous to leave you here alone. If we had Hedwig with us still, I'd send her with a note. No, the only thing that we can do now is get there ourselves. On foot or by what ever means we can – magic not withstanding of course."

Resigned to these only options, Harry nodded and began to rack his brain for an idea.

This was the Muggle world, where magic had no place except to swindle people out of their money (true, however depressing the thought might be; even more so that there was a department within the ministry dedicated to these crimes). Harry had grown up here, knew a few things from the tele, or from what he'd seen himself.

"We could always hitchhike," he suggested, but dashed the thought immediately. Who'd pick them up and drive them all the way to London? A taxi cab, maybe, but that would cost quite a bit, and Harry, who held a substantial fortune in his Gringotts wizard's vault, had only a few quid with him.

They could walk if they had to.

It would take a long time to walk to London.

"How do you feel about committing illegal acts Harry?" Tonks asked suddenly.

"Illegal how?" he asked with warily. Tonks had roguish a gleam in her eye.

"Muggle Illegal," she said. "Nothing heinous, I promise."

"I don't know Tonks, what're you getting at?"

"Wellll… it would seem that somebody's left their bicycles unattended, just at that house—" She pointed to a house a few doors down, across the way.

Harry raised an eyebrow at his guardian. "Tonks, those bikes are _chained up_. To a tree. A _big_ tree. That's hardly what I'd call unattended."

"A minor inconvenience," Tonks said with a nonchalance that Harry didn't trust.

"Minor? That chain is not a minor inconvenience. In case you didn't notice, it's huge."

"Yeah? So?"

"It's thicker than my arm, that chain is! That's a bloody anchor-standard chain!" Harry said.

"Wotcher Harry." Tonks grinned, pulled out her wand and started toward the house.

* * *

"Do you really need to do that, Tonks?" Harry asked for the third time as the pair coasted down Rawley St. on their newly acquired steeds. "If you lose your grip, it'll likely take my head off."

"Relaaaaax Harry," Tonks drawled as she continued to swing the heavy steel chain over her head. Funny the word "Relax" would be coming from her; barely ten minutes before, she'd been panicked out of her gob.

"You look like a biker," he remarked, grinning. Tonks whooped and started to pick up speed.

_The Order's got to be mad to trust me to _her, Harry thought to himself.

Sirius was sitting in the wire-mesh basket on the front of his bike, looking as thrilled as a crup could be while on the run. His tongue was lolled to the side, and he kept trying to bite the air. Harry smirked down at his little friend, whose pronged tail was _tap-tap-_ing against the basket.

"At least _you_ don't have to do any of the work."

* * *

They pedaled on for another hour before stopping in at a Muggle general store, where they bought water and snacks. The storekeeper told Tonks that London was less than five hours by bike, which gave them some hope. Still, the sun was falling quickly (it was now past five), meaning that if they were to get to London in that time, it would be dark. Harry didn't fancy meeting new faces in the dark streets of London.

"We'll have to tough it out," Tonks said grimly through sips of water. "We can handle ourselves. Watch each other's back, right?"

"Speak for yourself, she-with-a-wand," Harry muttered. Tonks blushed.

"I'm sorry Harry, but we can't risk getting you expelled again."

"I know, I just hate this feeling of… vulnerability."

"What? Don't trust me?" Tonks asked with a sniff.

"What? No! I mean yeah… you know what I—"

He scowled at Tonks as her laughter became apparent.

"Red like a tomato," she giggled.

"Come on," he grumbled. Sirius yipped in apparent agreement.

They set off again, London-bound. For the most part, Harry kept a good pace, and was able to ride beside Tonks and keep up a conversation. He told her about the summer as it had been before the disastrous confrontation with his uncle that morning, keeping to himself the fact that he had spent hours out of his first week in a huddled mass, letting himself cry for Sirius.

He'd shed angry, vengeful tears; hateful tears; selfish tears that had burned his eyes. He'd cursed more names than deserving. Voldemort and Bellatrix more often than not. Dumbledore on the odd occasion. Himself for being the cause of it all. And in his moments of utter hysteria, he'd found himself cursing Sirius as well.

It was only after the Order had sent along little Sirius the crup that Harry had started controlling himself again. The way Sirius looked at Harry made him more appreciative of how it must have been for Sirius himself when he and Harry had first met… attempted murder on Harry's part aside. It was just one of the many things Harry noticed about Sirius that strayed his thoughts to his new friend's namesake.

Harry bit his lip as his stomach clenched. Sirius again. The voice he had heard the night before…

Soon he'd have some answers… hopefully. Dumbledore was a man of suspense, Harry had learned over the years. For good reason the headmaster seemed to think, contrary to Harry's belief. It seemed to him that Dumbledore might be the only one who could explain this new incident to him, if at all. It depressed Harry.

Tonks noticed Harry's lull, and studied the younger boy while his mind wandered. He did look thinner than he had been at King's Cross, fresh from Hogwarts (even then, he'd been thinner than usual). And definitely drained, she could see that in his face, in his eyes, which seemed to carry only a glimmer of the life she'd seen in them before. His unruly hair was lank, his complexion was pallid and now that he was off in his own world, his expression was morose. It depressed Tonks.

They didn't speak for an hour, at least. At times, Tonks would pedal ahead and set the course toward London. What she lacked with grace, Tonks made up for in her impeccable concealment powers, and an unusual knack for directions.

"Me dad was a scout," she told him with a grin. "Had a compass surgically implanted into my head at birth."

A small smile touched Harry's lips, to Tonks' delight.

They stopped in a small town two hours from London. By now they were behind schedule: it was ten o'clock, and the sun had set hours ago. They were both exhausted from the ride so far.

"I don't suppose you carry any Muggle money with you?" Harry asked.

It turned out that she did. Very little, but pooled together, Harry and Tonks had enough for a room at an inn just inside the town. In a new guise (tall, blond, and buxom), Tonks told the innkeeper that she, Violet Durlsey and her nephew, young master Arnold (Harry nearly groaned aloud), needed a double room for cheap, which he supplied for a decent figure. They were left with enough money to buy munitions the next morning, which Harry thought was a blessing.

"Violet" signed into the innkeeper's guest book and smiled at the dour old man, who was staring intently at Sirius.

Or rather, Sirius' pronged crup tail, unseen in the Muggle world.

"Whassat on yer pup's tail?"

Harry said nothing, his mind having gone blank.

"Birth defect," Tonks interjected nervously. "It… uh… was like that at birth."

"Mmhmm?"

Tonks glanced at Harry, face registering her alarm. The innkeeper just kept staring at Sirius, who stared back.

"I think it… adds character," Harry added lamely.

Tonks flashed a thumbs up as the man sighed and turned back to her.

"'E's 'ouse trained, is 'e?"

Tonks nodded vigorously.

The innkeeper took another look at Sirius, whose head was cocked before sighing again and handing over the key to their room.

"Check-out's at noon, right? Brekkie's in the dinin' room from seven 'til ten, pool's open from elev'n 'til ten. If yeh need anythin', dial pound nine on the tele. Goh-eh-all?"

Tonks nodded and thanked the innkeeper, who returned to reading his newspaper. Harry beckoned for Sirius to follow him and Tonks down the hall to their room.

Room Twelve. Harry shared an amused glance with Tonks, whose hair was darkening to black.

Room Twelve was a tiny suite, hardly the size of Harry's room back at Number Four. There were two tiny beds against one wall, separated by a bedside table. Against the other wall (only a scant few feet from the edge of one of the beds) was a tiny corner desk, upon which sat an old alarm clock, an electric kettle, a tea pot, two mugs and two packages stale looking biscuits. The clock, which appeared to be accurate, give or take a few minutes, ticked away softly. To its left was a door that led to the incredibly cramped bathroom.

Tiny as it might be, it was a room, and it was miles away from the Dursleys. Harry could barely ask for more.

Not that he would've been able to. Having made the mistake of laying down upon one of the beds, he was asleep within seconds.

* * *

He awoke sometime later, feeling as though he'd come off the bad end of a nasty duel with Draco Malfoy. His muscles sang with a pain that annoyed rather than agonized. He forced himself to sit up and rub sleep from his eyes.

It was still dark outside, and Harry wondered if he'd slept straight through the day and into the next night. If he hadn't, it certainly felt as though he had: he wasn't as drained as he had been hours before, merely groggy and sore. Despite his aching muscles, he felt as though the final leg of their ride would be a stroll in the daisies.

Tonks, on the other hand, looked as though walking alone might kill her.

"You look terrible Tonks," he mused, spying her seated at the desk. Then he noticed that she was still dressed. He saw that the other bed hadn't been slept in.

"Did you stay awake all night?"

Tonks nodded wearily. "Had to," she croaked (Harry felt a shiver at the sound, and worried even harder). "Can't let our guard down."

Harry got up and examined the Auror. Dark rings circled her eyes, which were bloodshot. And yet, she grinned at him, a very Tonks thing to do, and said, "I'm fine, mate. Just need some coffee in these veins and I'll be ready to set off."

"You need more than coffee," he objected. "You need sleep Tonks. Go, take an hour or two. I'll be fine."

"Harry—"

"_Nymphadora_," he warned.

Tonks grumbled at the use of her real name, but took Harry's outstretched hand and let him guide her to the unused bed. She flopped down uselessly, face first into the thin pillow.

"Wake me before nine," came her muffled voice. Then nothing.

Harry glanced to the clock on the desk, noting how early it really was. No wonder it was still dark, it was barely past six.

Content with letting Tonks get some rest, Harry sat down at the desk and tore open one of the packets of biscuits. He tossed most of them to Sirius, who devoured them in no time. Harry nibbled on another, ignoring the fact that it was stale. It was better than nothing.

He sat back and watched Tonks slumber. He felt a little peeved that she had wasted a night of rest to guard him from nothing. Guilty as well, but he didn't tell himself this.

Tonks uttered something in her sleep and rolled onto her back. With a start, Harry noticed that her appearance had changed again, and was still. Her hair, which had been black and waist-length earlier, was now losing its color and its length. It was paling, becoming grey. Dark grey that lightened until it was pure white. It also seemed to recede into her head, finally stopping at two or three inches.

_Must be her lack of concentration_, he thought to himself. He saw that her button nose was now growing longer, becoming more aristocratic. It was a curious spectacle, one that reminded Harry of Barty Crouch Jr., and how he had reverted back to his true form whilst unconscious, as the Polyjuice Potion he'd been taking throughout the day had worn off. Only Tonks was much more pleasant to be in the company of.

Deciding to leave the sleeper be, Harry forced himself up from his seat and hobbled to the bathroom, where he took a long, luxurious shower. He washed the grime from his face, and shampooed his hair vigorously, then simply let the water spray against his body, let it drip down his face, and let a hundred thoughts pass aimlessly through his mind..

He stayed in the shower for three quarters of an hour before, thinking about where he was, and how he had come to be here, in the shower of Room Twelve of some tiny inn, miles from his usual summer home. Somehow he felt more comfortable here than he had at any time during his stay with the Dursleys. They weren't here, treating him as though he were ill and infectious. Here he had a fellow magic user to talk to, even if she was six years his elder.

Somehow, thinking of Tonks as an elder in any sense of the word didn't seem to fit right.

Feeling better, Harry got out of the shower and toweled off; stretched out a bit more, then returned to the main room.

Tonks had changed appearance again. Now, she had ash-blond hair, down to her shoulders. Her face had changed as well, and she now bore a hooked nose and several years worth of wrinkles.

He was intrigued, not having studied the abilities of a Metamorphmagus before. He'd have to ask her about it when she woke up, he decided as he pulled the desk chair to the window, where he sat, gazing into the pre-dusk calm of the town.

* * *

His mind had wandered, because before he was aware, it was half past nine. Harry woke Tonks, who tried to push him away before breaking back into reality.

"Wotch… eh, forget it. I'm too tired to be cheery," she groaned.

Smiling, Harry said, "Were I able to see your true face, I think it would look well rested."

Tonks' eyes widened in surprise. Then she closed her eyes, concentrating hard on something. Her hair began to recede again, and became a violent, acid green. The Snape-ish hook nose was sucked back into its cute button look, and her eyes, which had been a greenish-blue in her sleep now deepened to emerald, matching Harry's.

"You saw me shift, huh?" she asked. Embarrassment showed on her face.

"Twice," he said. "First your hair turned white, and your nose changed."

Smiling sheepishly, Tonks said, "That's what I look like without using my powers. Because I have to keep a degree of concentration to stay in a form, I revert back to my normal form when I sleep."

"Your hair was white though. That's your normal hair color?"

"I was born that way, most Metamorphmagi are. White hair, white eyes."

He told her about the other shift she'd performed.

"That was a Dream Morph," she explained. "A lot of the time, I'll dream that I'm in a certain form, and my body will react like I'm using my powers consciously."

"So what were you dreaming of that would make you blond, hook-nosed and wrinkled?"

Tonks raised a green eyebrow. "Beats the hell outta me."

Noting the time, Tonks got up and stretched out. "Let's grab some grub, mate," and slapped him on the back. "Continental brekkie it may be, but it's food, and that's all this beast is worried about."

Her stomach rumbled in agreement.

* * *

**sandra greer** - Actually, the only help I've had so far has been from JK's books, and some information from the Harry Potter Lexicon and Mugglenet.

**SiriusLivesOn -** Uncle Vernon had a breakdown, is all. A part of his brain kicked in and overpowered his anger.

As for Harry and Tonks… well, just read and find out.

**wolfawaken - **Why thank you. Haven't been complimented like that in a long time.

**Tessa Kitsune - **I can't accept that I'm writing this nearly or as good as Jo, but thank you anyway!

**spike blade** - Same here. I'm putting myself in Harry's shoes when I write and so naturally, I pair him with Ginny mostly, or Tonks.

**MissMaeoftheSky** - One of the best eh? I guess you haven't heard of ruskbyte. He's a true genius on Harry Potter. Check out his works.

As for Harry and Tonks, you'll just have to sit through it and bite your lip. It's my first time writing a Honks, and I like the idea, in spite of, sometimes because of the age difference. I think they could work.

And thank you for adding me to your favorites. It means a lot to me, having "fans".

**SiriusLeeBlack09** - Yeah, the Lexicon has more information than the books even. They've got facts from Jo herself that aren't in the novels.

I figured that because he knew an adult from the Order now, someone who wasn't _too_ much older than he, maybe they'd be kind enough to drop by. Besides, they'd be keeping a closer eye on him than Ms. Figg, right?

The voice is not Ron, I guarantee it.


	4. Lost In The London Underground

****

Author's Notes: Why, exactly are Harry and Tonks lost in the Muggle Underground? Why not? It's a perfectly reasonable setting, all things considered. And it gives me a chance to introduce a plot twist that's important later in the story.

There's fluff and angst in this chapter (and likely in the rest of the chapters throughout). You'll have to put up with it.

Hold on folks, next stop is a doozy.

****

Chapter Four  
Lost In The London Underground

Much later, they were on the road again, laying miles behind them, and drawing closer to London with every moment that passed. In fact, it took them the better part of two hours to find the first signs of the city. By four o'clock, Harry was sure that they would be in safe haven before sundown, a thought that restored his vigor.

This thought was reinforced when they sped past a familiar landmark: the Leaky Cauldron, a dingy little tavern hidden from the eyes of the Muggles that crowded the streets. It served chiefly as a refuge for wizards in the area, but was also the only entrance to Diagon Alley, the famous wizard market where all your magical needs could be met, at bargain and negotiable prices.

This meant to Harry that they were near a station of the London Underground. All they needed to do now was find it and make their way to the station nearest the Black Manor.

They found it only a block away. The steps leading down into the underground station were decrepit, and at the same time inviting. Harry turned and grinned at Tonks.

"Almost home free."

They faced a bit of a moral plight, however. Their nicked bikes would likely be nicked again, once abandoned. Tonks thought about this, then asked Harry, "Muggles see odd things, don't they?"

"Yeah, I suppose," he said, glancing at the bikes, leaning against a low brick wall. "Why?"

She smirked and pulled her wand from her coat again. She tapped both bikes on the handlebars and whispered, "Go home."

With no physical thrust, the two bikes pushed off from the brick wall and wheeled off, gaining speed as they went. A Muggle crossing the street jumped back as one of the bikes, now maneuvering on its own, let off a sharp ring of its bell. The poor man watch in bafflement as they turned the corner and pressed along.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Tonks and said, "Subtle. Nobody will notice that."

"Come on," she chuckled and led her charge down the steps.

* * *

The station stank of some unknown putridity. A handful of evening commuters eyed the trio as they descended, not paying any particular notice to Tonks' bright green hair, but rather to Sirius, who bounded around the platform, yipping at heels and walls.

"I don't suppose you know our stop?" Tonks asked as they examined a route map. She groaned aloud when Harry shook his head. "So it's trial and error then. Snakeskin, I don't even know what part of London the damned manor's in."

Harry smirked. "_Snakeskin_? That's a cuss to you?"

"Oh geroff it," Tonk muttered.

"We've got a bit of problem," Harry told her a minute later. He'd spotted a man in a uniform making his way between the other commuters, checking their tickets before moving on. "He's going to throw us out if we don't have a ticket."

He pointed to a fare vendor, and a sign upon its front which boldly advertised that they were dead out of luck. Sirius the crup barked at machine, which remained lifeless, even as he lifted his leg to it before returning to Harry's feet.

"We're out of money," Tonks whined. "Ooh, why does it always have to come to this?"

"Come to what?" Harry asked.

"Just stay still and don't say a thing… ever… to anyone… especially anything about what I'm about to do."

Her hand slipped into and out of her coat again, just as the guard finished checking a gaunt businessman's ticket. Behind her back, Tonks gripped her wand in her left hand and signalled with her right for Harry to stay still.

"Evening there," the guard said. Harry didn't believe him to be as jolly as his tone would have him believe. His eyes were hard, and his steely smile showed his high expectations.

"Good evening," Tonks said very calmly.

"The train should be here in a few minutes. You two've got your tickets, I expect?"

Behind her back, Tonks' right hand opened, fingers stretched out. Harry told himself to keep faith.

"Well, actually," Tonks started, and it amazed Harry once again how she could keep the stammer from her voice while weaving a story, "we were mugged today… y'now, upside, and the bugerleers…"

So much for faith. At that slip-up, the guard's eyebrows furrowed. Tonks' right thumb folded in.

"Bugerleer? What sort of rubbish is this?"

"Uh!" Tonks' mind drew a blank as her right pinky dropped.

"Are you smackered?" the guard demanded, all pretense of being a kind civil servant gone. He glowered at Harry, then back at Tonks. "You been drinkin' with this kid?"

Her ring finger dropped, and Harry understood what she was doing. His heart thundered as Tonks' middle finger retracted.

The guard took their silence as a give-away of guilt.

"Right, can't have you on board without a ticket."

Tonks' last finger dropped, and her hand balled into a fist.

"Come on then…" and he made to grab for them.

SMACK.

Tonks' fist hooked around and twisted into an uppercut that caught guard unawares in the chin. His head snapped back and with a groan, he collapsed into a heap on the platform floor.

Harry stared, nonpluss. Tonks cursed under her breath, slipped her wand back into her coat and gingerly cradled her fist.

"_Are you mad_?" he cried, a little louder than he should have. Every head in the station turned, casting annoyed looks upon the trio before melting into bewilderment at the site of the prone guard at the feet of Tonks, who was nursing her hand.

"_What are you all looking at?_" she barked.

Obediently, every single head snapped back around.

Harry was flabbergasted. He pointed to the guard, trying to form a coherent sentence.

"Oh, come on Harry, he was asking for it," said Tonk. "What would you have done?"

"I-I… well certainly not that!"

"Are you so sure?" she asked, her eyes twinkling. This may have been due to the pain in his hand, however.

* * *

The train pulled into the station less than a minute later, and Harry was more than relieved to be able to sit, no matter how filthy the compartment was. What annoyed him was the attention they were getting from the other passengers. And now, it was not on Sirius' account; the crup was at Harry's side with his head in the boy's lap. It was Tonks, who shot fierce glares at anyone who stared for more than three seconds.

"So why did you sock him when you could've used your wand?" Harry asked. "Probably wouldn't have drawn so much attention."

Tonk nodded, "But why use magic when Muggle solutions could work just as well? Besides, it isn't exactly prudent, shooting off Stunners in Muggle London. I'm pretty hopeless with Memory Charms, so covering it up would've been a task and a half."

"And your wand was out, why?" he put in.

Tonks snorted, very unladylike. "Don't be daft, Harry. That Muggle was thrice my size. I didn't expect to knock him clean out with one shot."

She laughed at his dazed expression and ruffled his hair with her good hand. "Remember Mad-Eye Moody: Constant Vigilance!" She winked and added, "Remember Ted Tonks: Always have three back up plans in mind, a fist in one hand and a wand in the other."

"Oh? And what were your other two back up plans?" he inquired with an amused cock-of-the-brow.

"Fake an attack, or run away, of course."

He couldn't help shaking his head.

"So, do we have any guesses as far as our stop goes?" he asked with a trace of hope more than he should have allowed himself. The look Tonks gave him made his heart sink. "And I thought that it would be easy."

"So did I," Tonk said quietly.

"You're all right, aren't you?" Harry put a hand on her shoulder, noticing how her eyes had lowered to the compartment floor.

"Not really," she admit. "I got us out here, without a clue where to go. I've let the Order down, and I've got you out here, in the middle of it all, when you're supposed to be in Surrey. I've let you down too."

"I'm the one who forced you to drag me out here in the first place," he pointed out. "If you hadn't walked in the door when you did, I'd probably be in Azkaban right now…"

He realized what he had just said, and for the first time since leaving Privet Drive, Harry's thoughts strayed to the horrible scene that had led to all of this. Or rather, to the horrible storm that had been brewed inside his head, and his heart by his aunt's words about Harry's mother. He knew what he would have done, what he would have _said_ had Tonks not interceded.

"What'ya mean Harry?" Tonks asked. He avoided her eye, saying nothing. "_Harry_," she urged with surprising sternness. "What were you going to do?"

"Nothing," he snapped. He folded his arms against his chest and sat back in his seat, angry at himself, and at the tears that were forming in his eyes.

Too many tears. Would they ever stop?

He let out a bitter laugh that caught Tonks by surprise. She searched his face, an examination in concealment… an examination Harry was flunking.

"Harry, what's wrong," she pressed. "Come on, you can tell me. You've told me hard stuff before. _You can trust me_."

Harry said nothing at first, but merely looked at Tonks. The gentle concern was unusual; Tonks was one of the most carefree people Harry had ever met, save the Weasley twins, who too had shown little sorrow openly over the years Harry had known them. Even her voice seemed alien; it was too soothing to be Nymphadora Tonks'. But rather than cause discomfort in him, it made Harry relent.

"Only Dumbledore knows this Tonks. Not even Ron or Hermione know, because I knew then, and now, how they would react. Like they always do," he added bitterly. "It happened in the Ministry of Magic."

"Sirius?" Tonks asked immediately.

"Yes and no," he said. "It was after…" He had to take a deep breath to keep the lump from forming in his throat. "It was after Bellatrix murdered him. After she fled."

Tonks had been unconscious throughout this portion of the battle in the Department of Mysteries. Bellatrix Lestrange had knocked her unconscious, and by circumstance, Tonks had suffered heavier injuries as she had fallen from a considerable height to the stones below. She'd awoken at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries the next evening, to the news of Sirius' demise and Voldemort's escape. She hadn't known that Harry had pursued Bellatrix into the upper regions of the Ministry, nor how it had been Dumbledore who had protected him from Voldemort's destructive magicks.

Now Harry went futhur with the story and told her about how he'd used the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix Lestrange; how she'd recovered almost instantly, mocking him and Sirius in the same breath. He told Tonks about Voldemort's invasion of Harry's mind, how the Dark Lord had tried to trick Dumbledore into killing Harry, to stop the pain that he was inflicting into Harry. The pain that had made Harry pray for his death, to be freed, and reunited with Sirius. But this thought had brought with it the love that Harry felt for his godfather, and that emotion had expelled Voldemort from Harry's mind.

Harry didn't stop there. He kept speaking, without knowing it, and told her about what had happened in Dumbledore's office: the raw, unbridled fury that made Harry lash out and destroy several of Dumbledore's things, tear the room into ruins, and almost attack his mentor. He spoke on about Dumbledore's story, about how he blamed himself for Sirius' death, and how Harry had done the right thing after all; about how Kreacher, the Judas figure in the story, should not be hated, but pitied for his part in the tale. And lastly, Harry told Tonks what Dumbledore had told him, about the Prophecy, and why, fifteen years ago, Voldemort had tried to kill Harry.

He spoke for the better part of a half hour, in which time, the Underground made four stops, none of which looked right to Harry. By the time he had finished speaking, Harry felt no desire to move. He simply wished to remain where he was, unmoving, allowed to dwell on these things. But he was given no such luxury, as Tonks remained at his side.

He broke then, feeling the guilt of the last year spill over, dragging his anger and sorrow with it, and before he knew it, Harry was shaking violently.

He was in Tonks' arms before he knew it. She held him close, whispering his name in a calm, even voice, comforting him as best she could. Their luck had afforded them an empty compartment, as most of the other passengers had disembarked before Harry's breakdown. As the Muggle train sped along through the underground paths beneath the dark streets of London, she held Harry close to him as he finally let some of his grief forward.

He'd cried for most of his first week away from Hogwarts, but not like this. Simple memories had triggered those soft sobs, but retracing the steps leading to his current state forced out more and more until Harry could take no more, and fell into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

It had been a brief nap, he realized as he emerged. No more than a half hour had passed, he guessed, while their station likely had. Harry forced himself not to think about what had just happened and opened his eyes.

They were still moving, bumping ever-so slightly down the tracks. Harry lifted his head from Tonks' shoulder, and felt her head slide down onto his. She was breathing softly, quietly.

Had it not been for the fact that they were desperate to reach Twelve Grimmauld Place, Harry would have been content to sit as they were forever. He snaked his arm around Tonks' shoulders and sighed before acknowledging what he had to do.

"Wake up Tonks," he said in a hoarse voice. The talking and crying had taken a toll on his throat, but he worked around it. "Wake up, we have to get ready."

Tonks' eyes opened slowly, a touch paler than usual. He noticed that her hair, while having lost some of its color, had remained short and green. She'd merely been dozing, perhaps.

"Feeling better hun?" she asked.

"Much," he affirmed. _Hun_? He smiled.

"Thanks for letting me use your ear. It really helped."

Her smile was warm. She gathered him into a hug and said, "Anytime. You deserve a quiet listener."

The train began to slow. Harry's heart thundered as he got to his feet.

"We have to find out where we are," he said. "If we're on the wrong train, I'd rather find out sooner than later."

"Agreed," Tonks said. The train halted at the platform and the doors slid open. Harry, Tonks and Sirius emerged into a dingy platform that was only slightly more pleasant than the first. At least there was no stench.

"All right, we started here," Harry said, pointing to a dot on the route map they were examining. We're here…" he pointed to a highlighted dot, seven points to the left of the first. "So that means that we have three more before the train turns around and starts back to… wherever it goes."

"Brilliant!" Tonks cried suddenly. She jabbed her finger at a dot just beyond the one that they had started at. It was marked King's Cross.

"We walked to there from Grimmauld, remember? If we can get to King's Cross, we'll be close. Very close!"

"Tonks, you're a genius. If only you'd mentioned it before," Harry ribbed. Tonks flicked his shoulder.

"How long until the next train that way?" she asked, just as the lights overhead flickered and went out.

"No, no, this isn't happening," she moaned. Harry heard her shuffle around before muttering, "_Lumos_!"

From the tip of her wand came a ball of brilliant light that dimly lit the platform.

It did, however, brightly illuminate the face of the man standing directly in front of them.

He was broad in the chest, not very tall, although he had about a head on Harry. His eyes were firm and steely gray, which didn't suit his closely cropped orangish-blond hair. His face was strong, weathered, and friendly at the same time. At that moment, he was grinning benevolently at the trio.

Harry simply jumped back, startled by the sudden appearance of this man.

Sirius whined and toddled backwards, his tail between his legs.

Tonks gave a small shriek and dropped her wand, plunging them into darkness again.

In the moment after the light faded, Harry heard a distinct whisper from somewhere in front of them, one that faded into silence as it was spoken.

"_You seeeee…_"

Harry heard Tonks curse ("_Snakeskin_!") and drop to the ground, fumbling around in a mad search for her wand. She raised it again and snapped, "_Lumos_!"

More brilliant than before, light burst from her wand and illuminated the platform.

The man was gone.

"What in the name of Styx was _that_?" came her quivering voice.

"I have no idea," an equally shell-shocked Harry responded.

Sirius whined, laying down in piteous display.

"It wasn't just me then?" Tonks asked. Harry shook his head. "Good, because I could have sworn that I'd just seen somebody standing _right there_."

"I saw it too Tonks."

Too clearly too. Harry thought that he'd recognized the face from somewhere.

Not the voice however.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

He felt Tonks' hand find his, and he took in his grasp, twining his fingers in hers.

"I'm officially scared now."

He could hardly disagree with her.

* * *

They didn't move for several minutes. It seemed that the electricity must have shut off, which brought a terrible groan from Tonks.

"As if we don't have enough to deal with, now we're _stranded_ here? What do the Fates have against us now?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "But I do know that if we start walking now, we might be able to make it to the King's Cross platform in an hour, if we press ourselves."

Tonks nodded and the two of them, praying to whatever deity that might still like them that they would not be squished by a sudden arrival, climbed down into the tracks and started on foot through the barely lit tunnel. Sirius, fearing separation from Harry, leapt down and scurried to catch up to them.

It was slow going. Harry's trunk, still in his pocket after all of this, was now weighing down on him. Tonks kept urging him to hurry, but he had little choice in the matter. Finally, Tonks took the trunk herself and tapped it, uttering a charm that lightened it considerably, then tossed it back to Harry, who pocketed it.

"Now you can hurry," she declared, and broke into a jog.

* * *

They met a train along the way.

Luckily, it was dead on the tracks, stuck in the middle of the dark tunnel. Harry could barely imagine how the passengers were reacting as he, Tonks and Sirius squeezed along the side of vehicle. It was dark inside every compartment, and Tonks, not wanting to arouse suspicion, was forced to extinguish her wand.

As soon as they had made it past the train, she lit the tunnel up again and pushed a hard pace.

Little more than an hour later they reached what they assumed was the platform they were looking for. They'd counted the platforms along the way, and this one happened to be the eighth along tunnel.

Harry boosted Tonks onto the stone floor of the platform. She in turned pulled him up (with Sirius dangling by his teeth from Harry's trouser leg) and they collapsed in a heap on the floor.

"We - made it alive," Harry gasped.

Tonks nodded, a serene grin spreading on her face.

"Alive," he repeated, chuckling.

"Alive," she confirmed.

Sirius barked loudly, bounding between the two bushed adventurers, licking faces and panting dog-breath in their faces.

Harry didn't rest long. He made for the route map, studied it under the dim, faraway light of Tonks' wand and saw that they were indeed at the King's Cross platform.

He pulled Tonks to her feet, reminding her that they were close, to which she muttered, "That's what we thought when get got _into_ London."

The corridor leading to the stairwell was still dark, and empty, a good sign. Harry found himself more relieved that they'd met nobody along the way than the fact that they were still alive. On the other hand, there was that man that they'd seen back at the far platform.

"I'm sure I've seen his face before," Harry told Tonks as they emerged onto the sidewalk just across from the King's Cross Train Station. This heartened them, and Tonks led the way through the now familiar landscape.

"Are you sure Harry?" she asked, turning another corner. "I mean, we only caught a glimpse of him.

Harry described everything he could remember about the man's appearance, which was more than Tonks' recollection.

"All right, so he was familiar. Maybe he was Ministry worker looking for you or something."

"He didn't take me into custody," Harry pointed out.

He also pointed out the whisper he'd heard just before the man had vanished, which Tonks hadn't seemed to hear.

"'_You see' _? What does that mean?" she asked. Harry had no idea though.

He wracked his brain, trying to place the face he'd seen, the voice he'd heard, but to no avail. Frustrated, Harry kept walking on after Tonks had stopped.

"We're here," she told him. Relief washed over them, and seemed to spread to Sirius, who yipped. "Hold him, Harry, then think the pass-phrase."

Harry gathered Sirius in his arms, then closed his eyes, recalling the text that he had read in this very spot, perhaps exactly a year ago.

__

The Headquarters of the Order of The Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

Opening his eyes, Harry found a door appearing between numbers eleven and thirteen, as they had the last time he'd come. They didn't wait to watch as the windows appeared out of nowhere. Tonks tapped her wand against the door knob, to which a quiet din of clicks and rattling arose as the door unlocked. Tonks pushed it open and pulled Harry and Sirius inside.

* * *

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danielc - You're right about the voice thing.

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Dark-Syaoran - I'm glad you're enjoying it.

I thought that Vernon's break down was funny. Maybe not everyone, but I personally enjoyed writing it.

Thing is, Jo never specified what curse Bellatrix hit him with, but we can assume from the general reaction that it was the Killing Curse. Nobody said what the archway was all about, so we can't really draw a conclusion from it.

It is both ways for the trio. You'll find out more about the distancing between them all in furthur chapters, mostly chapter six. Ginny hasn't written him a whole lot either for a few of the same reasons Ron and Hermione haven't, which you'll find out later. As for Neville and Luna, they're going to become good friends of Harry's.

Sorry, but Fred and George don't have a huge role, as the story takes place mostly at Hogwarts. Check out my other fic, I Must Not Mess With Mr. Lee Jordan for some Gred 'n Forge.

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SiriusLeeBlack09 - Well, yeah, it was sort of expected. There isn't too much you can do with them on bikes. But I really liked the scene in Room 12. Gave you a better look at Tonks from my perspective. Hee, I live for the deadly fluff.

Unfortunately, I think that a lot of the chapters are going to have slow moments, especially the next two or three. Hopefully I'll be able to work through it. I need a fight scene of some sort.


	5. The Will Of Sirius Black

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Author's Notes: To the reviewer known as "**actually**", if you read page 710, it says that Sirius ducks Bellatrix's red jet of light and makes a comment to her just before "…the second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest." She doesn't give this second one a color, and a lot of people likely dash this one up to a second red jet of light. But because she's allowing us to take liberties, and because there's really no evidence to prove that it was a Stunner, I'm calling it a Killing Curse. In fact, just reading the description of how Sirius reacts to being hit reinforces this theory, as he isn't knocked unconscious as described in other passages and books, but rather he seems to comprehend it as he falls.

Remember, this is my story, and because she didn't specify, I'm gonna call her on the Killing Curse.

Anyway, Fluff alert, as usual. Angst alert, again. Mrs. Black alert… hee hee. And I realized a while back that I need to add in a point in which Harry and co. receive their OWL's. Maybe next chapter. Unfortunately, my creative juices seem to have dried up a bit. I'll see what I can add to the next chapter I've got in the works (#7 only, I'm afraid).

Enjoy!

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Chapter Five  
The Will Of Sirius Black

They were greeted right off by Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt, both of whom looked very relieved, and somewhat distressed.

"Good lord, we've been ill with worry," Remus whispered to the two young arrivals. "What took you so long?"

"Long trip," Tonks muttered.

Kingsley beckoned for them to follow him down the hall. "Come on, we can talk in the kitchen."

The four of them, and Sirius the Crup, who remained in Harry's arms, walked as quietly as they could as not to disturb the portrait of Mrs. Black, Sirius' mad old mum, who cursed up a storm at anything non-Pureblooded.

As soon as they reached the kitchen, Remus boiled a cup of tea, which he poured for all four of them. Then he sat down across from Harry and asked, "What happened."

He looked to Tonks for support (she could only offer a weak smile) before launching into a slightly modified version of events. He left out the fact that they'd knicked the bikes, and their eventual return to Little Whinging. He also failed to mention Tonks' confrontation with the Muggle guard, as he knew that Remus and Kingsley were likely upset enough at her as it was.

Most importantly, he omit the fact that he'd been ready to use an Unforgivable Curse upon his aunt before Tonks had stopped him.

When he finished, Harry stared across the table at Lupin, who nodded. Kingsley stared at Harry and Tonks in turn, appraisingly. Tonks just stared at the table.

"You two did well, all things considered."

"_What_?" Harry and Tonks said together.

Lupin gave a feeble smile, as if trying not to be impressed. "You're both here, alive, and all you have to show for your trip are a few Muggles who noticed two runaway bikes speeding through downtown London and a sore hand," he winked at Tonks, who stared back, baffled

"You knew?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Kingsley rumbled. "Mundungus Fletcher trailed you from the Leaky Cauldron down to the Underground."

"Why didn't we see him then?" Harry asked.

"Dung can blend in well," Lupin said. "That, and he had an urgent business call that pulled him away from the train."

"More cauldrons?" Tonks muttered.

"Second hand bats," Kingsley smiled.

"Not something to laugh about," Lupin growled, and Kingsley sobered.

"While I'm impressed," Lupin went on, "I'm also a bit disappointed in both of you. Yes, you kept from arousing suspicion, but you also had us worried until Dung reported in, just an hour before you got here."

"How'd you find out I'd left?" Harry asked.

Kinglsey said, "Arabella Figg sent an emergency owl to us when she came back to find you gone. From what she reckons, she missed you two by an hour, at least."

"She was here, then?" Tonks asked.

"Yes," Lupin said. "She was reporting in, and needed to speak to Dumbledore in person. She left one of her Kneazles on Harry's trail."

He glanced at the wall clock and blinked. "Well, it's late, and you two have had a long couple of days. I want you in bed, Harry. You too Tonks."

Surprisingly, neither one argued.

"I expect Arthur and company should be arriving tomorrow when I send them word that you're here."

"Will Dumbledore be coming?" Harry asked suddenly. But when Lupin shook his head, the flicker of hope that had appeared in his mind vanished.

He and Tonks excused themselves and started upstairs. Harry settled in the same room he and Ron had shared the previous summer, while Tonks took a room on the next floor.

"Night Harry," she said with a yawn. "Hope you sleep well."

She gave him a brief hug, then trudged up the stairs, stumbling on every third or fourth step.

Hedwig was perched upon the wardrobe, already asleep as Harry undressed. He felt security here, now that he was between walls protected by innumerable charms and wards, and Dumbledore's secret-keeping. That in his mind, and nothing else, Harry drifted off.

He dreamt of the train ride, with Tonks at his side, sleeping against his shoulder. He had an arm wrapped around her shoulder, and her arms were locked around his midriff. He was stroking her hair, which was white and natural, a wistful smile on his lips.

Funny how the dream never changed. The train didn't stop, Harry didn't move, and Tonks never awoke. It didn't seem to last very long, though, and the next morning Harry could barely remember dreaming at all.

* * *

"Maybe you should make her blow a fuse like your uncle Harry," Tonks smirked. "Should shut her up."

"I'd rather not try and match screams with that horrid beast, thank you very much," Harry grumbled as he worked a finger in his ear. "I think she's cracked an eardrum that time."

"Sorry," Tonks said meekly as she walked, slouched, with her hands in her pockets.

Notorious for being the Order's clumsiest member, Tonks surprised nobody that morning when she came down the stairs for breakfast and collided heavilly with Kreacher, the ancient and foul house-elf that stalked the manor in a senile, angry daze.

The unfortunate thing was that Kreacher had been in the process of smuggling a pair of smoke crystal chalices under his loincloth as Tonks rounded the corner and crashed into him. This caused the chalices to shattered loudly against the ground, and Tonks to shriek madly as she flipped, head over heels, onto her back.

The commotion was nothing to Mrs. Black's thundering moments later.

"FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS! WRETCHED SCUM OF PERVERTED ACTS! BLISTERING SORES ON THE RUMP OF THE EARTH! ––"

Luckily, Kingsley Shacklebolt and the just arrived Arthur Weasley were able to subdue the drooling, deranged portrait as Harry and Lupin pulled Tonks to her feet and out of the way.

"What about Kreacher?" she'd asked, dazed.

"Leave him," Lupin said grimly.

Kreacher, far from helpless, had taken to bawling beneath the now curtained portrait of his old mistress. His vulgar mutters did nothing to lighten the spirits of Mr. Weasley and Kingsley, who despised the house-elf as much as the next person.

Disengaging his finger from his ear, Harry pushed open the door to the kitchen, and despite knowing that Mr. Weasley was here, Harry was taken aback by the turnout of visitors that awaited him. Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, Charlie, Molly and Arthur Weasley had all arrived just before Harry had awoken (Ron, Ginny and the twins were still yawning, but looked excited enough to see Harry again). They all crowded around Harry, asking him questions, showing him a Weasley Wizarding Wheezes flyer, fussing over his hair, showing him a fresh dragon burn… for a moment, Harry felt as if he were at the Burrow again, as it had been before the return of Voldemort. But soon, Arthur had restored a semblance of order and the entire clan settled into a scrumptious breakfast.

Ron grinned at Harry, who tried his best to return the look. He found it hard, seeing as how Ron hadn't showed much interest in speaking to him all summer.

"Heard about your road trip," he sniggered. "Fred, George and I think it's brilliant."

"I suppose," Harry said with fake cheer. Ron was oblivious to this and peppered Harry with questions throughout the meal, which he answered dutifully, the cheer in his voice running dry.

He wasn't surprised by the dark looks Molly dropped on him and Tonks respectively throughout, but it brought a rise in Harry that he tried to quash immediately. She meant well, but Harry hated how she fussed over him more than she did the twins. That was what she and Lupin did too much: worry about him. Especially after Sirius' murder.

After breakfast, Harry excused himself from the table, under the pretense of having a shower. He knew that his sour mood was showing now, but he didn't care. He wanted some privacy, after spending the last two days under the watch of Tonks… not that he mind it _that_ much.

* * *

He only had an hour to himself before Ron latched himself to Harry's side. The gangly red head avoided mention of his lack of communication, and instead detailed to Harry his new Quidditch play, which he'd devised with the help of Charlie.

"I just hope I get a chance to show the new team captain, so we can flatten the Slytherins with it. Especially Malfoy." Ron's eyes went dream as the image of Draco spiraling toward grass of the Quidditch pitch filled his head.

"What's Charlie doing here," Harry asked. "I thought he was stuck in Romania."

"He's taken a short leave of absence," Ron said. "Bill's back in Egypt, and so he figured that at least one level-headed son might be good for mum and dad."

"Percy's still not speaking to them?"

"He didn't even send Ginny a birthday card," Ron muttered.

Harry said nothing, but shifted the heavy pillowcase he was carrying over to his left shoulder. It stank of meat, and was damp with blood.

"Sirius must have really loved Buckbeak," Ron said, a good foot away from Harry.

There were on the top floor of the manor, just outside the door of what was once Mrs, Black's bedroom. It now served home to Buckbeak, the renegade Hippogriff that had aided in Sirius' escape from the Dementors back in Harry's third year. Unfortunately, the enormous creature had grown restless over the last four months (since his last time being allowed out into the outside world) and it seemed that only Harry could control the ill-tempered Hippogriff.

Harry and Ron bowed low to Buckbeak in the typical fashion that Hagrid had taught them so long ago. After a moment, Buckbeak followed suit, lowering himself on his front legs before Harry strode forward and stroked his unusual pet's feathered head.

"Sirius really left him to you?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded as he stroked the Hippogriff's break. "Lupin told me this morning. He says that there's a lot more too, but wants to wait until tonight before he reads me the will."

Ron sat down on the only chair in the room and asked, "Do you want me and Hermione to be there with you? I mean, it's a family thing, right, so we'd understand…"

Harry had known that his friends would want to be by his side when Lupin (as executor of Sirius' estate) read the will to him and Tonks. But even before Ron had asked, Harry knew that he didn't want either of his friends to be there.

He found this hard to say, because while he was still upset with both of them, Ron and Hermione remained Harry's closest friends. They'd been with him since the beginning, and he had hoped that they would always be at his side when he needed them.

"No, I don't think so," he finally said as he fished out two dead rats from the pillowcase and handed fed them to Buckbeak. He didn't need to see Ron's face to know that disappointment shone from it.

He continued to feed Buckbeak in silence until Ron asked, "Why is it just you, Tonks and my mum and dad that are hearing it? Sirius must have left loads of stuff to other people."

"Tonks and your parents are his only blood relative, aside from the Malfoys and the Lestranges," Harry said, his mood blackening even more. "He's probably left a few things to Lupin, and Dumbledore, but Dumbledore's not available. And I can't think of anyone else who he'd leave something to."

It was true. Sirius hadn't many people to count on in his last years, except for the Order and those connected to it. His cousins were almost all in hatred of him, aside from Tonks' mother Andromeda (Tonks would be representing her and her father Ted). The Weasleys parents, connected distantly from the Blacks, would be there without their children because they felt it more appropriate, as Arthur had told him.

"I'm sure Sirius left your parents quite a bit," Harry said reassuringly. "He and your mum argued a fair bit, but they were pretty keen on each other under it all."

Ron said nothing, though his ears burned. Despite appearing to be indifferent to his family's financial plights, Harry knew that Ron hated it sorely. Harry did too; he thought that if anyone deserved the fortune locked up in the Potter's Gringotts vault, it was the Weasleys, who were more hardworking and kind than many of the well-off families Harry had met since his start at Hogwarts. They were also an incredibly stubborn bunch who refused charity with a polite smile.

Harry hoped desperately that Sirius would leave Arthur and Molly something spectacular, and was about to tell Ron this when he noticed that his friend had quietly slipped out of the room.

* * *

Dinner that night was subdued. This didn't mean that the twins were completely behaved, however. Even Harry had a laugh when Charlie's mashed potatoes belched loudly at him, and he could've sworn that he saw Mrs. Weasley covered her mouth as a tiny smile broke out.

Soon after the leftover trifle had been cleared away from the table, Mrs. Weasley shooed away her children, who were surprisingly obedient in departing. Soon, Harry, Tonks, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Lupin and Mad-Eye Moody were left alone in the kitchen. Harry noticed the grim mood that descended even more heavily now, and almost dreaded the reading.

Tonks scooted her chair closer to his, offering a gently smile which he didn't even bother trying to return. He wished now that he didn't have to be here.

"All right," Lupin said a moment later. "I guess we should get on with it, none of us are getting any younger." From his robed he pulled out a single sheaf of parchment that looked quite fresh to Harry. He forced himself to keep his attention on Lupin.

"Dumbledore drilled it into us," he started, "that our being in the Order was an incredibly risky venture. And because of this, Sirius and I, among others, decided to draft our Last Will and Testaments in the event that we lost our lives."

Lupin's normally pale complexion seemed even more transparent, and for the first time since he had known him, Harry saw tears in the older man's eyes. His hand was trembling slightly and there was an unmistakable quiver in his voice.

"I never though that I'd have to read his," he said very softly. On Harry's right, Mrs. Weasley sniffed.

After recomposing himself, Lupin cleared his throat and began reading the document.

" '_I, Sirius Phineas Black, a resident and citizen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain, and being of sound mind and sound body, do hereby affirm this to be my last will and testament, in the event of my death._

"'Item One—_'_" Lupin stopped and with a sad smile, said, "this is all the legal rubbish I have to deal with. I'll skip to the important parts." He cleared his throat again and continued.

"'_I have very little in the way of assets, and do not hold much value with the majority of them. However, there are items that I wish to distribute among my survivors, and are as follows:_

"'To Arthur and Molly Weasley, and their children, I bequeath from my personal vault at Gringotts, number 711, the sum of fifty thousand Galleons, to be used in whatever way they see fit, on the condition that it bring happiness to them and those around them.'"

"Fifty thou—" Mrs. Weasley sputtered as Mr. Weasley straightened himself to keep from falling from his seat. "Fifty thousand Galleons? I never knew that he had such a fortune!"

Neither had Harry. He smiled to the Weasleys, who appeared to be in a state of shock. Fifty thousand Galleons was more than what Mr. Weasley made in a year.

"There's more too," Lupin said. "'_I bequeath to Arthur Weasley, and he alone, my personal enchanted motorcycle…'_ I don't believe this." Lupin smiled and read, "_'I daresay, it will match his bomber jacket quite well.'_"

"Well I'll be," Mr. Weasley muttered. "His motorcycle."

"Moving on," Lupin said, "_'To Andromeda and Theodore Tonks, and their daughter Nymphadora, I bequeath, from my personal vault at Gringotts, number 711, the sum of twenty thousand Galleons, to be used in whatever way they see fit. And to Nymphadora Tonks, and she alone, I bequeath my entire collection of _Emphur Quillton _mystery novels; old drum kit; and my entire collection of _Aurors! _comic books.'"_

"Sirius you noble dog," Harry heard Tonks whisper. He gave her an inquisitive look, to which she replied, "Tell you later."

"_'To my dearest friend, Remus J Lupin…'_" Lupin's voice cracked, but he recovered and read on. "_'…I bequeath, from my personal vault at Gringotts, number 711, the sum of thirty thousand Galleons to be used in whatever way he sees fit, on the condition that he buys at least one set of robes to replace those tattered old things. In addition, I bequeath to him all my personal effects, with those named within this document as exceptions._

"_'To Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore, I bequeath my manor at 12 Grimmauld Place, to be used as the headquarters for the Order Of The Phoenix over the years that it exists. In addition, I bequeath to him the remaining funds within my personal vault at Gringotts, number 711, to be used in whatever way he sees fit, on the condition that a generous portion is used as funding for the Order Of The Phoenix, and Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry.'_

" '_And lastly…'_" Lupin read, turning his eyes to Harry, who remained still in his seat with the vague knowledge that everyone else in the room was now looking at him. "_'…to my godson, Harry James Potter, I bequeath the following:_

"_'The task of caring for the Hippogriff, Buckbeak. I entrust you with Buckbeak's life, as I entrust yours to him._

"_'My entire collection of Dark Arts Defence texts._

"_'My bottle of Chablis, vintage 1947. The very same vintage served at your parents' wedding._

"_'My wand (12 inch alder containing a dragon heartstring) to be kept in memory of my abilities._

"_'My collection of practical joke paraphernalia dating back to my years at Hogwarts in memory of the name Padfoot._

"_'And lastly, from my personal vault at Gringotts, number 711, a sealed letter to be delivered to upon the reading of my will. This letter has much private information, and should be seen by the eyes of Harry Potter only, with any exception in his own discretion._

" _'Lastly,'_" Lupin read on, his voice losing strength as he did so, "_'I leave to everyone the knowledge that I loved each and every one of you with all my being. You have all showed me the same respect and love that I now offer to each and everyone of you eternally, and for that I am grateful.'_"

Lupin, wet in the face, folded the parchment and slipped it in his robe again. He said nothing as he sat down. Nobody said anything, for a long time.

* * *

Lupin gave Harry the letter Sirius had left for him after the kitchen cleared out. He gave Harry a hug and said, "Take as much time as you need to read it." Then he trudged off with Moody to start taking care of the important legal bits.

But Harry found himself simply staring down at the enveloped marked with his name in Sirius' writing. He couldn't bring himself to break the Black family seal, simply couldn't. Instead, he took the letter upstairs to his room and put it in his trunk, where he hoped he might forget about it.

Lying in his bed, Harry replayed the reading over and over in his head. He wasn't sure how he'd be able to keep Sirius' wand, with the knowledge that it had failed his godfather in the end. And the wine… well, Harry felt more comfortable with that treasure than he did the wand.

All in all, he was more than satisfied with his inheritance (although he would've been satisfied had Sirius merely left him his favorite handkerchief and Kreacher). He was also quite happy for the Weasleys, Tonks's and for Lupin. Harry wondered just what Dumbledore would do with the money Sirius had left for him and Hogwarts, but he chose not to dwell on it, as his mind slipped back to the letter, now residing in his trunk.

* * *

On the other side of the manor, far from the sensitive "ears" of Mrs. Black, Harry found Tonks making more of a racket than anything the drooling old portait could ever attempt.

It seemed that Tonks had found Sirius' old drum kit here long ago, and was now taking advantage of the fact that it was now hers. Harry had been quite surprised when he opened the door, mainly because the Silencing Charm along the jamb disengaged with the action, and the near silence of the hallway was shattered by the mad pounding of wood on drum.

He thought that she sounded rather good, in spite of (or perhaps because of ) the frenzy she seemed to be in as played. It was a sight to see and to hear, and Harry was soon grinning.

Tonks soon stopped to breath and noticed Harry in the jamb. She beckoned for him to come in and joined him by the window.

"I didn't know you played," he said, still amused.

"Since I was a tot," she panted. "My dad never got me a kit because it was so effin' annoying to him and mum. When I got to Hogwarts, I had to wait four years before I could transfigure old pots and pans into a kit."

"You ever play in a band?"

"Play in a band?" Tonks huffed. "You're looking at the ex-drummer of Muggle."

Harry smirked and asked, "You named your band Muggle?"

"It was that or The Bloke Next Door."

Harry raised an eyebrow "Bloke next door?"

Tonks smirked this time. "The bloke next door _was_ a Muggle. Imagine his surprise, hearing noise that was unheard of by Muggles. No longer the bloke next door."

They both laughed.

"But I prefer tunes with more… kick."

"Like what?" Harry asked.

"Like Big Mouth Witch, Polishing Wands, The Snitches. Stuff you can kick your feet to."

And she did just that, smashing her bare foot against the leg of their table.

"_Ah!_ Bloody hell! Smeggin' table! Ow ow ow!"

"That's was smooth," Harry drawled as Tonks nursed her bruised toes. She shot him a withering glare, which served only to increase his building laughter.

"Shove off," she groaned as she flopped back in her chair. "I hate being such a clutz."

"I suppose it makes for good drumming though?"

"Surprisingly, yeah."

* * *

They spent the rest of the day together, carefully avoiding the subject of Sirius' will. Tonks regaled him with stories of her own years at Hogwarts (he could scarcely compare the twins' antics to hers, and wondered again and again how she'd managed to avoid Filch more than half the time, in spite of her lack of dexterity). He told her about his first two years which included the battle to keep the Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort, and Harry's private war with the memory of Tom Riddle, the school and himself.

He was tempted to skip dinner that night, to keep talking to Tonks, but relented when his stomach rumbled loud enough that Tonks raised an eyebrow in surprise.

He barely spoke to Ron at dinner, which seemed to put the red head off slightly. After dinner, Harry and Tonks went upstairs to feed Buckbeak, covering more topics as they took turns tossing the Hippogriff dead rats. Soon, the evening had turned into night, and night was slowly creeping into morning.

* * *

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AnnF - Arabella isn't home, is she? Why would Tonks want to get inside then? Breaking and entering into her home probably wouldn't be the best thing to do. Besides, when all else fails, I can use the plothole that there are wards around _her_ house as well. :P

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deadfeather - Arabella is supposed to be the watchdog on Privet Drive, and Tonks is supposed to be a sort of sentry that day.

Not a word on Ron and Hermione. :P

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SiriusLeeBlack09 - So did I.

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Dark-Syaoran - Oh believe me, she's going to be a firecracker at Hogwarts.

Dumbledore seems to know more about a situation than anyone else, even if he isn't involved. He's got to know that Harry's trusted Tonks with a lot of information, and his reaction should likely be fair. Hermione and Ron will have their own reactions, of course.

I shall not give away a thing. However, feel free to e-mail me to lay down your theory and I'll let you know if it's accurate.

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danielc - Tonks knows Harry, pretty well by now, and knows that he doesn't truly have the power nor the mentality to cast the Cruciatus Curse. And as for Hermione, we'll have to see, if he decides to tell her.

Hm. I've never read about her hair cycling. Not my thing really, but I may do something similar.


	6. Love And Loss

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**Author's Notes:** Aaaaaaand WHAM! A meteor of fluff demolishes all dignity within my story. Well, not really. But I've got a feeling that people will start asking me why I had this chapter written so early in the story. Because it felt right.

Mind you, this one is chock full of anger and explanation too.

Unfortunately, I'm working full time now, and barely have time to get any writing done, so once again, I'm on hiatus, until I can muster some creative juices. I leave you with my (so far) favorite chapter.

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Chapter Six  
Love And Loss

The summer almost ended on a very sour note for Harry.

Hermione came to visit the week before their departure for Hogwarts, which brightened Ron's mood, as he'd been in a depression due to Harry's attitude towards him. Unbeknownst to Harry (or any for that matter, except maybe Ginny) Ron and Hermione had started showing affection for one another through their letters, to the point where Ron could not bear to wait until Hogwarts to see his new beloved (though he would be the last to call Hermione this). He patiently asked both Lupin and his father if it would be all right for Hermione to visit for at least a day, to which they both agreed, even allowing her to share a room with Ginny to stay the night.

Harry's response was more enthusiastic than Ron would have expected, considering his distance from his best friend the past week. It irritated him that Harry would rather spend time with Tonks or Buckbeak, and it didn't occur to him that maybe Harry was holding something of a grudge against him for his lack of communications throughout the summer.

Nevertheless, things brightened in Grimmauld Place the morning of Hermione's arrival. She arrived via Floo powder and embraced each one of them in turn (planting a small kiss on Ron's cheek out of sight of the others). Naturally, she was on the verge of chewing Harry out for his escape from his relatives' home, but Lupin interceded and told Hermione that Harry had already been chewed out enough. He winked at Harry as Hermione apologized.

After settling in, Harry, Ron and Hermione took to themselves for a few hours, chatting about this and that in a way that reminded Harry of the good times when they'd first met. He noticed that the two of them were arguing less than usual, and Ron was making Hermione giggle a fair amount.

"What's wrong with you two," he asked, only half serious. "You two haven't yelled at each other once today. The twins and I were making bets on it!"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a meaningful glance then, and Harry's suspicions were confirmed, to his delight.

"About bloody time you two," he said with a grin. "Took you, what? Five, six years? Prats."

"You're okay with it Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Of course I am! I've been waiting for you two to get it through your thick skulls that you're perfect for each other."

For the rest of the day, Ron and Hermione held hands wherever they went.

* * *

The next day brought a horrible row.

Surprisingly, it wasn't between Harry and Ron, as a few of the occupants of Grimmauld Manor had been betting.

It was between Harry and Mrs. Weasley.

"Any plans today you lot?" George had asked the trio as they emerged from their rooms that morning. "We'd like a hand at the Wheezes today."

"New items," Fred said with a malicious glint in his eye.

They could hardly turn the twins down, because it had been their plan to visit Diagon Alley that day anyway. Their booklists had come a few days before, and the three of them, with Ginny, were itching to get out of Grimmauld Place for the day.

"We'll need new quills," Hermione chattered. "And I'll need a few new phials for Potions, my old ones are getting too foggy. Ron's going to need a new robe or two—"

"Slow down Hermione," Ron groaned. "Talking that fast in the morning is illegal where I come from."

"Sorry, but there's just so much to do at Diagon Alley today," she said.

"Yeah, like nibble on some harmless animal crackers for a good cause," George put in from the other side of the table.

"Or write with a perfectly normal quill," Fred added airly.

"You know, like good friends-"

"-or a good brother-"

"-no such thing Fred-"

"-too right George… what does that make you?"

"A good business associate."

"Takes one to know one."

The twins high-fived, to a chorus of groans.

"I'd rue the moment I walked in their door," Tonks (wearing her hair long and dark blue) muttered to Arthur, who shook his head in silent laughter.

"I personally want to find that new Advanced Potions textbook," Hermione went on. "It's supposed to be chock full of difficult draughts, so I want to get a head start."

"You do that," Ron said. "Harry and I will content ourselves at the Quidditch shop, right Harry."

"Oh no he won't!"

Mrs. Weasley, standing with her hands on her hips, glared at Ron and said, "Harry isn't going to Diagon Alley, it's too dangerous."

"Dangerous!" Harry laughed. "In a crowd like that? Voldemort wouldn't strike there, he's not an idiot."

"How do you know that Harry?" Mrs. Weasley, decidedly cross, asked in a tone she'd never used with him before. "You-Know-Who is as unpredictable as anything, you can't be sure he wouldn't try to hurt you in Diagon Alley."

"Oh mum, be reasonable, Harry's been locked up almost all summer!"

"You be quiet Ron! You're lucky I'm letting you go at all."

"Wait, you're letting Ron go, but you're telling me I'm not allowed?" Harry demanded.

"You-Know-Who isn't set on killing Ron or Hermione," Mrs. Weasley said sternly. "I'd be a fool to let you go, wouldn't I?"

Harry was near the point of lividity now. He pointed down toward Mrs. Weasley and asked, "What gives you any right to tell me I'm not allowed to go? You're not my mother!"

"I'm the closest you've got though," she said coldly. "Since Sirius went and got himself killed—"

"DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT SIRIUS LIKE THAT YOU COW!"

A moment of pure, tension ridden silence passed before Ron, equally angered, very quietly said, "You'll pay for that you prat. Take it back now."

But Mrs. Weasley, who was pale herself said, "No Ron, no. It's fine."

"It's not fine! He just—"

"_Ronald._"

Ron's jaw tightened, but he didn't say any more. He locked a fierce glare on Harry.

"Harry, I'm sorry," Mrs. Weasley said heavily. "I didn't mean that. Please don't think I meant any disrespect to Sirius."

"I know you didn't," Harry said, a hard edge on his words. "But don't act like you don't resent him a bit. I know you did, because he treated me different than you do."

"He treated you like you were your father Harry, like you were an adult."

"Aren't I close enough?" Harry spat.

"Harry—"

"I'm sick of you treating me like a child!" Harry sulked. He pointed across the table to Mrs. Weasley and said, "You're the worst of the bunch! You treat me better than your own sons!"

"Harry, stop it," Fred or George muttered from beside him, and Ron shot him a scathing look, but Harry ignored them both.

"When I was recovering from the Triwizard Tournament, you provided more comfort to me than I'd ever had in my life, and I liked it, don't get me wrong. But when the summer came, and when I came here the first time, you should have at least had the decency to treat me more as an adult than you did. Dumbledore be damned, I had a right to know what Voldemort was planning!"

"Harry, mate, cool it," the other twin whispered.

But Harry got to his feet instead, leaned down the table again, and said in a very firm tone, directly to Mrs. Weasley, "Don't treat me like the child I never was."

Unease filled the room. Nobody spoke, they simply looked at either Harry or Mrs. Weasley, both of whom refused to take their eyes off one another.

Very softly, Mrs. Weasley said, "Everyone, please let me be alone with Harry for a few minutes."

There were no arguments, no acts of defiance. Ron and Hermione left hand-in-hand, Hermione trying to calm Ron down as he let his hostility show. The twins, Bill, Ginny and Arthur each gave Harry a furtive look of commiseration. Lupin put a hand on Mrs. Weasley's shoulder, and followed Moody out of the room. Tonks cast a worried look toward Harry before she too left and slid the doors closed behind her.

After a few tense moments, silent Molly reached into her robe and pulled out a folded photograph, which she slid across the scrubbed wood for Harry to take. He unfolded the old, tattered picture and examined it.

It was Molly, no doubt. Years younger, no older than he now was. Her face was full of merriment and her eyes smile was as broad as it had been the day he met her on Platform 9 and ¾. On either side of young Molly stood a young man, an identical twin to the other. They both had the same steely gray eyes, full of good humor, as they sandwiched Molly between them jovially. Their orangish-blond haircuts were the only things that set one aside from one other. The twin on the left wore his long, much like Bill did; the right twin had his cropped close on the sides, a shade longer on top, like Charlie.

"Gideon is on the left," Mrs. Weasley said. "Fabian is on the right. That was taken just before I left for my fifth year at Hogwarts. It was my first year without them."

Harry looked down at the picture again and realized that these two were Gideon and Fabian Prewett, two members of the original Order who had been murdered by the Death Eaters.

_…Took five Death Eaters_, Moody had told him. _They fought like heroes._

They were Molly's brothers.

"Mrs. Weasley, I had no idea."

She shook her head and said, "Not many people did, not many do. Maybe it's better that way."

She stood from her seat now and walked over to the window that overlooked the garden. Harry's eyes wandered with her and he waited for her to continue.

"They were three years older than me, but that didn't stop me from growing fond of them and their antics." She smiled sadly then. "I remember when they were eleven, and Fabian was afraid that he might be placed in Hufflepuff instead of Gryffindor, because he was more serious than Gideon, and more hard working than he was daring. He would've been the first Prewett in two centuries not placed in Gryffindor, and couldn't bear to think of how our parents would react. So when he and Gideon left for Hogwarts, I was worried that they would be separated, and that Fabian would feel shame for it."

She laughed aloud, and wiped at her eyes before turning back to Harry and continuing. "We got a letter from Hogwarts on the morning of the second of September, telling my parents that Fabian had loudly threatened the Sorting Hat, in front of the entire school, with promises of "lots and lots of fire" if he wasn't put into Gryffindor. Naturally, the headmaster, Dippet, was mildly upset while the rest of the school embraced Fabian and Gideon as true-natured Gryffindors."

Her expression fell as the story ended.

"They proved themselves Gryffindors until they died."

Harry was at her side, hugging the Weasley matriarch before the tears fell from her cheek. Harry felt shame burn in his face at his insensitivity, and immediately he apologised to Molly, who sat again, blew her nose on her handkerchief, and shook her head.

"You don't understand Harry. Being an only child, you may never understand it. Had you known your mum and dad, you would, but you never had that chance.

"Gideon and Fabian taught me more than our parents did, simply because my brothers understood me better. They were young, and they didn't like the old customs my parents tried to force on us. Don't misunderstand me," she said quickly, "I loved my parents, and they were good people. But they just didn't know how to raise the three of us. Gideon and Fabian took that job out of their hands, and so I depended on them."

Molly picked up the photograph again and stared long at the faces of her long dead brothers. Harry couldn't bear it.

"Gideon and Fabian meant everything to me, Harry, and I meant just as much to them. When I lost them to V-Voldemort—" She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. "—I told myself that I would never let anything like that happen again. Especially to somebody who depended on me as I did my brothers. That's why I've put so much effort into you, and why I seem so stern with my boys and Ginny." She smiled again at the thought of her own brood.

"Arthur and I made sure that we gave them all more freedom than our parents had. But at the same time, we knew that we would have to set some discipline in them, or else they might turn out wrong. From the looks of it, Arthur and I did the right job."

"You did," Harry said quietly, understanding for the first time Mrs. Weasley's stern yet loving maternal way. "Even the twins turned out well."

"I know, and maybe I'm too hard on them," she admit, "but I look at them, and I see their uncles in them so clearly."

"Shouldn't you be proud then?" Harry asked.

Molly tried to argue, but found no voice. She closed her mouth and thought on Harry's words.

"Gideon and Fabian died trying to protect the world, didn't they? Through their humor and disregard for the rules, they had courage that impressed even the likes of Moody. They braved the Death Eaters, didn't they? I know Fred and George pretty well Molly." He surprised himself by that, and judging from her stare, her as well. "They would do the same thing as your brother; they found fight against Voldemort himself until their dying breath, if they knew that they could save just one life."

"They would," Molly agreed. "And that's what I'm afraid of. I don't want to lose them."

Harry remembered the Boggart that had overpowered her the previous summer. It had shown her what she feared more than anything else: her children, her husband, dead. And Harry dead, as well.

"Then who would fight Voldemort?" he asked.

Molly met his gaze, but didn't answer him.

* * *

"Things are all right now?"

Harry looked to find Tonks in the doorway of his room. He nodded and motioned for her to come in.

"I found out why she's so protective of Ron and them, and of me," he said. "Her brothers—"

"—Fabian and Gideon, I know. Moody told me and Lupin." Tonks put a hand on Harry's shoulder and said, "Does it help you understand?"

Harry sighed and put his hand over Tonks'.

"Yes and no. I mean, yes, I understand why she doesn't want to be involved with the Order, why she doesn't want the twins to join. What I don't understand is her blindness to the fact that they may be the only ones that can help me through this, to defeat Voldemort once and for all.

"I also don't think that she should be worried if Fred and George turn out like Fabian and Gideon. They were brave, funny men who died fighting, and Fred and George are the same. They'd defend the rest of the wizard world until they fell, and probably continue from there if they could. That's something to be proud of."

"It is, but she's a mother. And she's the victim of a great loss."

Harry squeezed Tonks' hand, grateful for her words.

"At least she and I settled things…" He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I really blew it with Ron, didn't I?"

Tonks shrugged. "You've known him longer than me. I couldn't tell you."

"I'm surprised he even talked to me when he got here."

"What do you mean?"

Harry explained the lack of letters on Ron and Hermione's part the summer before and recently. He also told Tonks about his own grudging treatment of Ron.

"Harry, did it occur to you that maybe Ron was trying to do something right for once?"

Harry stared at Tonks as if she were mad. "Right? You call half-ignoring your best friend right?"

Tonks bit her lip before elaborating. "Ron may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he can work things out for himself you know. Don't you think that maybe he knows how you feel about being coddled? I think he wanted to let you deal with everything on your own for once."

Harry said nothing, but knew that Tonks was probably right. That still didn't make it seem all right though.

"He'll come around. You'll see. Hermione'll talk some sense into him."

She slid closer to him and put her head against his shoulder.

"You're a brilliant person Harry. Even if you don't act perfectly… or like a prat." She smirked. "But at least you stand up for what you think is right, and in this case, you were right, and you were wrong, but you knew that you stepped the line. Don't let anyone tell you that you're not a good person."

He stroked her hair and slid his free arm around her waist, letting his eyes close as a serene warmth filled him. That familiar sensation in the pit of his stomach resurfaced. working out into his arms and down his spine.

I've been feeling it since the summer, since we first started talking. I can't deny it. There's no point.

To his surprise, the Nag whispered, _Then don't. If you feel something, do something about it before it's too late. If you miss a chance, you could miss out forever._

Harry pulled his arm away from Tonks and faced her. She met his eyes with a curious gaze and sat up.

"Tonks?"

"Wotcher Harry, what's up?"

"Tonks—I…"

His mouth opened and closed soundlessly before he tried again.

"I—I… Tonks…"

"Yes. Tonks." She pointed to herself. "You. Harry." She poked him in the chest lightly.

"Very funny," he growled. "Look, just listen, ok? I just… uh…"

She didn't seem to mind his continued stammering; in fact, she quirked a bluish eyebrow as she realized just what was going through the poor boy's mind.

"I… I… oh boy."

"Harry?"

He snapped to attention. "Tonks?"

"I know what you're going to say… well, what you'd eventually say if your brain wasn't mush."

He stared at her, slack in the jaw and wide eyed.

"You like me, a lot, which was not obvious whatsoever. And you have no idea how I feel. Does that sum it up?"

"Uh… yeah?" he said meekly, red faced, and surprised that he hadn't started sounding like Uncle Vernon.

She stared at him for several seconds before demanding, "Well?"

"What? Well what?"

"Aren't you going to ask me how _I _feel about this?"

"S-should I?"

Tonks could only grin and say, "Oh, shut up and kiss me."

With that, she pounced on him and had him pinned to the bed in three seconds flat. Before he could try and fight back, Tonks whispered into his ear something that he would never forget.

"And I was worried that you fancied Ginny."

Relief washed over Harry like a tidal wave that broke him from his shell-shocked state. Strength renewed, he turned the tables and rolled a bewildered Tonks onto her back, pinned her to the bed and smirked. He leant down to her ear and whispered, "And _I _was worried that you fancied Remus."

He felt her rumbling with laughter beneath him before she could no longer bear keeping it in. She laughed so brightly and soon he'd begun to as well.

They stopped after a short time, radiantly red in the cheeks. Harry gazed down at Tonks, whose eyes stayed on his for several seconds. The icy blue that had shone under the sunlight streaming in through his window was fading, paling, as were her hair and her eyebrows. Her irises lost all color, becoming almost pure white, save a few shocks of blue just around her pupils, and the black outlines of her irises. Her hair was a snowy white and fell to her shoulders, matching her light, creamy skin better than the pink or green ever had.

Harry smiled softly. He thought that she looked incredibly beautiful, especially as her grin melted away into a warmer, loving smile of her own. She reached a hand up to his cheek and delicately traced her fingers along his jawline. She sobered, and an inquisitive, almost worried look dominated her face.

"Tonks…"

"Harry," she said softly, "call me Nymphadora. Just once."

He swallowed before starting again.

"Nymphadora?"

"Harry?"

"I… really do like you. A lot."

"I know. And I really like you too. A lot."

His heart seemed to stutter momentarily. To hear her say those words…

"Nymphadora?"

"Mmhmm?"

"I think that I'd like to kiss you now."

"Harry?"

"Mmhmm?"

She hesitated for a moment (Harry's stomach clenched), then said in a very quiet voice, "I think I'd like that."

He couldn't hold back. He lowered his head, his eyes locked on hers, and took the plunge.

Their lips brushed, barely touching, and yet the sensation was the most intense experience in Harry's life Even the Cruciatus Curse paled in comparison to the chill that shot from the base of his spine and spread upwards, through his arms and legs. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and goosebumps arose over his arms.

"Tonks…"

Tonks pulled him in and deepened the kiss.

* * *

If a planet were to explode anywhere in the universe, the power behind such a catastrophic event would barely equal that which flowed between Harry and Tonks in the two minutes of their phenomenal first kiss. Nothing could have prepared them for the surge of pure emotion they received from one another through this contact. Nothing they felt for the rest of their lives (aside from one other equally sensational moment) would be able to compare to what they felt as their lips parted for one another.

It exploded through them like an electric current, passing back and forth through any portion of skin that touched another: from Harry it coursed through his hand, his fingers, through his skin into hers. It traveled through the small of Tonks' back, up her arm and out through her fingers, which dug into the back of his neck. The sensual energy ran rampant as another stream of intensity took form.

Emotions, raw and untamed, arose in Harry and fed into the passion that linked him to Tonks through their kiss. At the same time, Tonks felt the same thing within her trembling body: emotions as pure and intense as wild horses surged out of her and toward a point where they collided with that which Harry had bled out. These two energies writhed and merged, fusing into one greater body that remained whole, centered around the point where their furiously locked lips met, and divided as their lips parted after what seemed like a robbed eternity.

The were both breathless in the aftermath of the act. Harry could barely believe the feeling that was slowly dissipating, the absolute raw pleasure that had coursed through him. And he could barely comprehend the fact that a part of him knew that Tonks had felt the exact same thing.

Their eyes were locked again, sharing the same wonder and desire, and fuelling the intense emotional storm that had formed between them, comprised of his and her emotions, now split into two equally intense parts that left a trace of Harry in Tonks, and a trace of Tonks in Harry.

It took several silent minutes for Harry's mind to start up again, in which he stared deeply into the stark, electric white eyes of the young woman who he was now hopelessly in deep, mad, wonderful love with. And this was true for her as well. She found the emerald fire of his eyes too enticing to break away from and hoped that she might be allowed to stare into them for all of eternity. The love that was rising in her should be made to blossom untouched by the hands of the world around.

At last, Harry found his voice, and spoke the word that hung in the air between them, waiting to be heard.

"Wow." he breathed.

"Wow," Tonks agreed.

They felt an odd calm settle over them before Tonks pulled Harry in again and the two met with the same shocking flames of passion between them, and melded into one soul for a mere moment of time.

* * *

**The Last Fable** - Heh, I like that line too.

I know. It may seem odd, as Tonks is older than Harry (some people seem to think that she's ten years older than him, I tend to see her as being maybe 22 or 23). I like them though, because Tonks is the sort of girl I'd date.

I see the trio distancing because of Harry's inner turmoil, and also because of Ron and Hermione's budding relationship, along with Harry and Tonks'.

The reason I made it so that Harry was about to use the Cruciatus Curse on his aunt is because since Sirius' death, the Unforgivable Curses have been weighing heavily on his mind and his conscience, especially because he used the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix. As well, he's somewhat angrier than he was before, only he's hiding it (I really, really hate writing angsty stuff like OoTP). And Petunia really pissed him off.


End file.
